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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. only last night i decided to put out a cigarette stump on my left hand's right knuckle...  squeamish? i didn't exactly hear a protest, invoking a gasp, of imploding pain.

                                           so...
  when was the last time,
you, actually tell your
neighbor to...
  *******...
   trembling with anger
as if waiting to have a fist-fight
over the most minor triviality?
i've heard him speak
foul words before his
supposed bride...
  and before the ******* kid...
i hate bullies...
  back in school i remember
being a bully for a split second...
i stephen kennedy...
   i heard an anecdote
   about a girl forcing him
to eat **** from the pavement...
so i jagged him up
with a fist to the kidneys...
    but then i took care of
         martin elliker -
the crooked toothed hunchback
during chemistry classes...
helped him out from time to time...
didn't mind the bad breath...
     we talked about playing
final fantasy VII...
   in this catholic school -
even the so called bullies protected
the genuine victims,
   from whimps, cry-babies,
you name them...
    and we shared a, as i mentioned
before, a pax non bellum...
we corporated in our approach
for the general morale of the peers...
in the 6 or so years at the school?
one suicide, a girl...
   just one...
              not bad...
       i met this girl at a romford
bus-stop once... told me her father
walked from Ethiopia to England...
        so we took the bus,
to Goodmayes...
    i, trying to be polite...
said i was going to visit a friend
to smoke some marijuana...
   she bought the story...
but then... i had to tell her the truth...
she already shielded my supposed,
slumber approaches with the line:
i have a boyfriend...
   so i told her...
    i'm actually going to the brothel
for an hour's worth of a, "girlfriend"...
all of a sudden, "richard" pops out
out of nowhere...
   "richard" was a proper bully before
moving from high school
to a six former status...
    on the sly:
    on a school trip to Glasbury-on-Wye,
for kayaking, caving, horse-riding,
      just after the mad-cow epidemic
cooled downed...
    each morning...
      me... at the breakfast table...
with about nine afro-saxons...
   not even making jokes
about phallus sizes...
                so this, "richard" remembered me,
asked me if i remembered his name...
which i did, several days later...
OH ****! DANIEL!
           would have been *******
easier if it was Fola Malomo...
a nigerian kid from primary school...
      point being...
  all this "real" life and the internet
imprint, internet banking
and internet shopping - also not being real,
apparently...
      well... internet trolling -
first i'm all for internet transparency,
second of all, some sort of cordiality
ethos -
                 ****-posting is not my thing...
neither is trolling...
   when you have a real problem
with a neighbor, over whether he tells
you that you should inform him
when you're cooking up a barbeque
and he has clothes on the washing line...
and you start trembling,
internalizing berserk anger in a
metaphysical ******...
                 and all you have in your head
is the color red, and plum...
    and a smashed in gorilla cartilage
of what was once a human nose?
    - and you have to use
verbal restraints, akin to: *******...
   what's with all these internet, "problems"?
it's not even worth the tunnel vision
analogy of a horse donning pomp
shutters...
     by then i turn off... become black-eyed,
losing a reference to an iris...
    i become a honing device...
between my tongue and my fist...
   is the matchstick's worth of width
of keeping up the least, or last
         artifact of civilized cordiality;
here?
   but an outlet - a refrigerator...
   some men would probably
      prefer to cool down aiming at
a punching bag...
                i can't do that...
       i have to be more subtle...
   and employ words as the worth
of punches... and a blank canvas as
the punching bag.
C X Rutledge Dec 2014
These hands that have held you as a wild child in a dream are the same hands that throb to choke you and muffle your screams.
These hands which guided and guarded you down those stretches of hospital halls are now the hands that push you down to fall.
These hands once caressed the jagged, pink, scar where your heart used to lay become the hands that wish to tear it away.
These hand that made sure you fell asleep through all that pain now are the hands that would cut themselves to beat out your brain.
These hands that used to pray for you like a ***** ready to be ****** are clinched in two fist now ready to make the first throw.
These hands that ached for you, fed you,  and tried so ******* hard are just the hands of memories now deep tissue scars.
... These hands.. Would have killed anyone, in dirt and cold blood.. Are now the only hands holding back the rage of my flood.
.. These hands, they still work for you. Even if you're no longer here with me..... These hands, they're still here, waiting... One day.. You'll see.
Saw some one I haven't seen in years..  It just reminded me of how much I gave up for someone in their darkest time in life and how much I mistreated them... Gotta love the holidays :) maybe one day.
Whitney Jade Aug 2015
A dramatic pause.
Some dramatic irony.
A dramatic tone, a dramatic dress;
A dramatic thought process.
Set the dramatic setting!

Picture a place...
A place where the mountains are too tall,
The oceans are too deep,
The rivers are too long; a place
Where only dramatic blood will seep.

I am an artist, therefore I am dramatic.
I paint with vibrant colors to
Catch the eye in a most surprising way,
I clench my fist with such severity
When I preach that the knuckles
Not only turn white, but are
Purely translucent.

I will pound my fist in the air,
A mighty pound against the air molecules
That have done nothing to me
But give me life,
And I will add insult to injury
As I raise my fist higher and higher,
I will TAKE a breath,
Inhaling deeply and I will say with a jump:
   "What, dad? It's called a fist bump.
   It's all the rage.
   You should try it sometime...
   Might diminish your old age."

Like the game of chess,
I am best known for the way I may test
The cold, human mind
And the way it rests
Glory upon the heads of the best of the best.
If you're only the best of the best,

Are you better than all the rest?

You're submerged into only a handful
Of contestants at that point in time,
I am having a hard time seeing where
You could say you have skills above mine.

Because I did not try out to be a "best".
Oh, no.
I simply tried out to be a P O E T:
A person of words and of worldly flow.
Yes, I am clean!
But I have soap in my eyes,
And I can hardly see.

I cannot see the gorgeousness of the greens,
The beauty of the blues,
The raucousness of the reds...
Oh, I forgot to mention.
I'm merely color-blind,
I thought that went without being said?

Don't!

Look at me in that tone of voice.
I am not to be looked at!
Unless, of course, I'm lookin'
Pretty fly today. Then you can
Look all you want because I am not afraid
To show off every once in awhile,
To boast,
To be audacious! ...

I often wonder why I never got to a
"Ready, set, action!"
Or a
"People! places, places!"
But then I remember why;
The persons on stage?
They are only acting.
They are actors.
In that moment, they do not really feel!
They are acting, don't you see?
Simply put, artists just the same.
Only, their art is also simply feigned.

People always ask me,
"Why are you so excited?"
"Why are you so loud?"
"Why do you say things of that might?"
"Why would you ever act so proud?"

And of course the reoccurring question of,
"Who are you again?"
But that's irrelevant.
I don't know why you brought that up.

And I always answer these questions
The same way.
I am an artist. Therefore,
I am dramatic.

People rush through life without
Paying respects to the little things.
Artists are humans too,
They are no exception to this rule.
We have faults, we have flaws,
We all have things
That need to be improved.

However, an artist can rush
Through life with such grace,
That it is no longer rushing.
Somehow through the blinding speeds,

they can see.

They can see what you can't.
Rushing, rushing, rushing.

I was hurrying out of class
And down the stairs the other day.
I rounded that corner
And began to descend only to knock
A poor female down unto her
Gluteus Maximus.

The situation was intense,
But I walked right past it.
I kept going, down those stairs,
To enter the bottom hallway...
And from up above I heard a soft, sarcastic voice,

"Um, excuse you?"

I couldn't help myself.
I had to turn around.
I told her,

*"Now you're just overreacting."
Slam poetry done by my younger self.
The darker the berry the sweeter the seeds
plant them because you sow what you reap.
My skin is magical you see...for I am a special kind of breed.
When I'm in the sun my melanin boils, plus heat is good for my ***** coils.
A shade darker I've just became...
From honey brown to a cocoa shade.
Time to untwist my bantu knots and free my natural fro.
The curly crown of victory as my melanin glows. I strut through the grasslands in tune with my inner goddess. My legs are thick and long, so now its time to flaunt this.
shaking my hair from left to right & pump my fist in the air.
Wish I was alive in the civil rights, but then I wouldn't be hear.
People they envy my complexion, they wish they had my perfection. But honestly you can't hate on something God gave.
Melanin queen, you reign in the lands.
Zion queen, lets do a foreign dance.
Melanin runs within my veins and pores.
Melanin I love to be, I'm wading
in the shores.
eileen mcgreevy Aug 2010
Oh ****, here we go again,
I feel it creeping through my brain,
The smoke has hit the fire alarm,
Almighty sadness , bleeding strain.

I'd run but what the ****'s the point?,
It's holding down my very joints,
I'm trying to fight the need to harm,
I'm geeting the **** outta this joint.

Oh misery, please spare me this monsoon,
Im growing weaker, i'll lose it soon,
This fist of pain, inside my head,
I've dried up, like a shrivelled prune
done by me
Kate Lion Feb 2015
you text me to say you're coming over
and
my heart does jumping jacks
it does pull ups on the bones lining my ribcage
my veins become skipping ropes
my heart
races and
races
until

my lungs inflate like giant love sacs
and my heart collapses
resting in your presence
as soon as your fist hits the door.
this is my last and final goodbye
as I write this I think of the times you made me cry.
with your hurtful words
and your loving smile to others
the leather belt that struck my back and left the open wounds
the hot iron on my arm when I talked back
and the fist against my skull if I did something wrong.
love me, to mom
abuse is not to be taken lightly
Heather Apr 2014
I don't care who said crying was overrated, who gave you the ******* right to control the tear ducts of another human .

A human shows emotion through tears , laughter , smiles. The human face has 24 different emotions yet the water stains on her cheeks was never stated as one .

The stains of mascara running down her cheeks , dripping on to neck , her nose sniffling up the excess embarrassment .

I told her to stop trying to be brave , she had to embrace each feeling as it came , I saw her chest heave up and down in a rapid movement so fast I couldn't keep count.

Her mouth was open , no sound came out , she looked like a fish out of water and person screaming but no sound .

Her hands started to shake her body soon followed next I held her close put her head in between the crook of my face and neck .

I felt the water dripping down my neck to my top I never said a word , never told her to stop.

Even though I just changed my sheets that day I never told her to man up because crying is a source of speech when words are not enough .

She had so much emotion and all she could do was mutter incoherent words ,I think it was " I'm sorry" .

Sorry for what I will never know , she never once asked me to let go and I never did .

For once in her life I gave her an embrace even though she refused because if she didn't feel my comfort I'm not sure what she would do .

I did it because when I need that embrace they all refused to give it , they told me to " **** it up" " be ******* brave" , I soon  found comfort in smashing my fist against my bathroom mirror and throwing my mothers jewellery box outside in the rain .

I stopped and I jumped in the mud that had formed and that was when I promised myself , if another person needs my embrace no matter who it was , I sure as ******* hell will give it because crying alone is just no good.

It's no good that others can't see your pain , I encourage you to throw a fit and call names , call them all ******* ***** tell them how worthless they are that when you needed comfort he would rather go sit in the car .

I want you to scream , yell and shout with the tears streaming down your face , show them what expressing yourself is all about.

Darling don't ever hold your tears in , wearing mascara or not ,just always keep a tissue tucked in your sleeve, and wipe your eyes till they are raw with the courage that they need.
we always speak of forgiveness
does it really exist?
we say we forgive each other
then we make a fist

i could say i'm sorry
one hundred million times
but the stain still remains
inside of our minds

maybe up in heaven
is the only place it lives
we can try with all our might
but only God forgives
we say that we forgive, but we don't...we harbor those feelings inside forever...we have all been there, we are told we are forgiven, yet the next little thing triggers those feelings again, and we sometimes even bring it back out...that's not true forgiveness
bukowski May 2014
my hands are shaking
my bottom lip is trembling
and I stand,
like the rocks that await
to be hit by the sea,
I raise a fist and take it to
my own left upper-arm,
it hurts a little
but not enough,
I do it again,
raising my right fist
and striking it against
my other arm,
this time it hurt a lot more,
but I'm still not satisfied,
I hit and I hit
for around twenty minutes
until my arm is all kinds of colours;
blue, purple, yellow,
I am covered in bruises;
I am crying now and my vision
is blurred;
I pick up the phone and listen
to the voicemail you left for me
when I was too drunk to say my own name,
and I lie down on the floor
trying to remember
how your lips moved
when you spoke your words of hate
and how your eyes would always fill with tears
when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth
Sean Flaherty Nov 2015
Put my name on the deed to a Rolls Royce. See a live elephant, before they all go extinct. Spend a year in New Orleans, with no one else's help. Win an Oscar. Own a Super Bowl Ring. 

Train my husky to walk my Boston terrier. Finally quit cigarettes. Never quit spliffs. Go hiking, every day. Drink less coffee. Get a better job. Get an even better job. Take less bathroom breaks. 

Fall for someone that helps me up. Have a talk with Fiona Apple. Write the screenplay we'd always refused. Ask relevant questions. Give accurate answers. Win a Peabody. Own a football stadium. 

Write the news my now doesn't know yet. Drink bourbon in Kentucky. Learn how to program. Make the best-sellers list. Fill dad with pride. Do laundry this week. 

Go see a chiropractor. Stay off the junk, would ya? Smell less-like I just smoked. Pay back your lenders. Keep close, your real friends. Let someone publish my work. Win a Pulitzer. 

Be punctual. Write something you'll want to read. Clean my room. Lower the volume of my voice (but not really). Earn my P.h.D. Adequately meld the personal and the real, the universally and the delusionally relevant. 

Make them pay me to do what I love. Spend it all on you. Get a bigger ferret cage. Live a greener lifestyle. Trash fewer K-Cups.  Let people be themselves, without worrying if they're sneaking around. Hug Tom Brady. Thank him. Explain what he means. 

Reconcile with the town of Webster. Pay the city of Brookline for those parking fines. Spend time in all 351. Read Infinite Jest, and all of Ulysses. Identify when a work is "Joycean." Interpret it, as such. 

Act. Tell a good joke. Become a falconer. Hug a chimpanzee. Dismantle a hate group. Put them all in their places. Cry easily. Stay happy. 

Revisit Paris. Discover Ireland. Stay awake. Talk to another wolf. Record the perfect song. Compile the perfect playlist. Want to go to work. Enjoy New York City. Maybe live there. 

Inspire society to care about poetry.  Re-certify my black belt. Center my self. Listen to it. Take photos that stop you. Draw pictures worth buying. Keep the gun in your waistband, in the small of your back, and never, ever, pull that **** out. Mean something, when you flash metal. 

Learn photoshop. Laugh at the all-encompassing parody. Love first. Haunt your dreams with a good story. Make you truly regret it. See the ****-good in everyone. Know the past, own the present, visualize the future. Catch a fist, dodge bullets.
List of goals
josie Oct 2014
waiting, waiting, waiting
and waiting
for a sign
that'll keep me alive
while the blade dives
and the blood shines
down my wrist
and my fist
pounds against the wall
and that one call
still keeps me
waiting

- j.m
Terry O'Leary Jan 2014
as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on ******).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues.
while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heroes or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or ******* or helpless, it’s all their own fault –
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt’!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen,
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE maintain many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns:
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are, well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (Armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.  
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that We cast to the sty.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
their own school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR throne...
whether diamonds or rubies... to gemstones WE’re prone) .
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em a bone.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagnes, ginger ales.
:-)
g Sep 2014
a crack in her voice
a tremble in her words
a shiver from her body
a tremor from her words
her anger gave her palpitations
her anger brought tears to her eyes
she clenched her jaw
and ****** her fingers

the wall next to her
no longer seems like a wall
it was a punching bag
the blood trickles down her fist
but she doesn't feel the pain
not more than the anger
red hot burning anger
i was just so ******* angry i wanted to throttle someone
J Drake Jan 2015
Faith. Hope. Love.
I don't have answers. I don't really know much.
But I know that those things ignite something in your heart, casting away the darkness of fear and regret.

When the cobwebs in the basement are cleared, you find all your old dreams hidden in corners you forgot about.

And when you pound your fist in the dirt, and say enough is enough... I'm not here to survive, I'm here to LIVE... to laugh and play and realize my deepest passions... to find the ocean of joy and invite everyone I know to swim in it with me. To love myself daringly; to dance with the darkness of my fears and invite their lessons in.

Something doesn't have to change. Everything has to change.
I'm not interested in being right anymore.
I'm interested in being ALIVE.

When you commit these things to yourself, and fight for love, for hope, for the adventure of really living all the way... something happens.

Something flips inside you, and heaven begins pounding at your door.

Life has always waited patiently on you to stop waiting patiently.

Adventure isn't around the corner. It's hiding underneath your heart.

Right here. Right now.
The beating of my heart... measured into words. Happy New Year. Contact me at awakenedimagination@gmail.com to share your feelings on my work. :)
Brujo Alligatore Feb 2016
Fixate on beauty
You hateful ****
Love
LOVE you weak
Nothing
Love
Xyns Mar 2014
Corrupt and quiet
Brain damaged
Like a mental hemorrhaging
A ****** heart's craving

Tattooed on your clear skin
Running hands over it
Dusting off your innocence
Dancing on ground that's caving in

Men and women in pain
Broken children going insane
Holding their breaths
Hearts heaving in their chests

Painstaking memories
Sipping tears from souls unclean
Empty verses, lyrics obscene
Children who will never be seen

You've lost your health
Now, what do you have left?
***** just like the rest
Nothing to show, no family crest

Tear jerkers
Hard workers
Acid-bathed men
You simply cannot win

Thoughts under arrest
Burning names off the list
Fighting with a pointless fist
Lost in the lifeless mist
Spencer Dennison Dec 2014
A gentleman is not brutal,
but he will prove all vendettas futile.
He is not immune to bullet, fist or blade
but any insult raised against him
will be met with a blockade.
He is stoic, but still smiles,
cracking his face open without reserve
for a friend, to calm, to a foe, to unnerve.
A gentleman dresses his best,
whether it Vans and sweater, or tie and vest.
No-one is beneath his attention
he gifts compliments quite often,
but when a man puts a hand on him,
that man goes home in a coffin.

No matter his orientation,
he respects every inclination,
He holds the door
the same way he strikes true,
every time.
He knows his weapon well,
but in blood, he doesn't buy nor sell.
He knows the time to fight
but of violence, he makes no light.
He respects every man,
every woman,
every child...
But,
if his family is ever hurt
and this one renders apologies inert
then they shall receive only
a box and a white shirt.
I'm a **** in silverfoil
with an outlaw's Excaliber.
Bottle of Moet,
I'll glass 'em like a poet.
You don't seek my mad company,
but should you meet bad company,
don't woz your pretty head over secret ingredi-
ent in my  Punisher's Pigfeed.

Coz you gotcha self a guardian stalker,
gotcha back, aintcha noticed
how all of your opponents slowly
grace missing posters?
Guardian angel taking out his frustrations
on your every enemy: you don't know you need me.
Coz every kiss I miss I gulp to my fist,
every yelp  of my heart
calls for a friggin' riot!

Sometimes you feel me on the night,
your own personal Dark Knight.
I firebombed Brighthouse
- why didja think that tumbledryer was on the house?
I won the war of all your stalkers,
but last code red cost me a cold blood rap.
'Cherchez la femme'
my ooh-la-la Remoaner
Knox Road tat. Reminds me ...

I'm your guardian stalker,
I went bit Christopher Walken
on your daughter's bully's father
in a black balaclava.
Guardian stalker, you know
that ****** dogwalker  
found sleeping with the ducks
- I did it for you, Fido too!
Coz every kiss I miss I gulp to my fist,
every yelp of my heart
calls for a friggin' riot!

Guardian stalker, uh-huh! Guardian stalker o' her!
Guardian stalker, uh-huh! Guardian stalker o' her!
You can't **** a man who's already been killed by love.
You can't **** a man who's already been killed by love.
Emergency convening of COBRA
can't **** a man killed by love.
Even Walker, Texas Ranger
can't **** a man killed by love!
Knox Road = Norwich prison
Kason Durham Apr 2014
Blowing in the wind,
Smells of salt; a hazy mist,
Sands of time run through sands so fine,
Damp with the tide that crashed like a fist,
The sun on the horizon starts to fade.

Cold and crisp, we sift through the waves,
Capped ice; a foaming delight,
They fill the air with sounds so fair,
Our toes fall through the water like an anchor,
The light falls and the night reigns.

Fingers upon fingers, playing on their own,
We fall through the air; cutting the sky,
My back to the earth, yours to the moon,
Our gaze locks like lovers leading light between us,
The sounds of the world come alive.

A gentle caress against skin so soft,
A kindled embrace, rolling against sand so coarse,
Passions flair in the darkness, the night breathes heavy,
As the ocean kisses the sands, so too our lips,
Whispers and sighs cut through the crashing flood.
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: So Aziel what's your plan with Frank?
Aziel: Well he is going to help me destroy the Order Of The Silver Knights and in return I shall help him get the Witch who cursed the Forest Of Whispers.
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Well I'll give you some valuable information who your looking for is Bethilda N. Lement. She is a very powerful Witch who with her Elemental Plowness is able to obtain what she wants.
Aziel: Well well ...so the Old Hag still holds the grip over the Forest doesn't she
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Indeed she isn't someone to take lightly now she is well rounded and knows how to fight. She controls The Tavern Of Doom Dragons. In her possession are 3 fully grown Dragons. Blair the Oldest Dragon Claire The Mother Dragon and Aurora the youngest one of them three.
Blair the Black Dragon Claire The White Dragon and Aurora the Stone/Lighting Dragon. Many have meet their doom entering in her territory Cyclop Human and Vampire Alike.
Aziel: I don't have anything to fear.

~Meanwhile...~

Bethilda Lement: Adreanna I want you to learn more about my Dragons start training with Aurora but be cautious she may be only three years old but she is powerful and robust. Lement screeches then Aurora hovers over the Mountain Of Shen* where the Tavern Of Doom Dragons is located. Adrianna Develve places a strong spell in the Dragon Aurora she finally succumbs to her authority.
Adrianna and Aurora go take down the Golem Of Steel  in the Hidden Ruins Of Odom.* The Golem stands 15 ft high weighs 2,500 pounds. Holding a crest of an almost impenetrable diamond in the middle of his chest. Emanating from the Crystal comes all his power and it's his only weak spot. Then Aurora and Adrianna make an impressionable entrance to the ruins and attack the Golem head on. Golem Of Steel: Here stands the infamous Adrianna Develve...well isn't  this a surprise.  I see that you have grown some and are able to maintain your powers well to face me. I know what you want you want the Crystal in my chest...that will be over my dead body. Audon's Crystal* is powerful enough to consume 1000 Well Trained Witches therefore young Witch you don't scare me. Now as for that Dragon well ... perhaps you stand a chance after all.  Adrianna Develve: I usually don't pick fights with powerful DemiGods like yourself but I  am in desperate need for your Crystal. Therefore, you will hand it over or I'll take it by force.  Golem Of Steel:  Good Luck.
Aurora shields herself with Stone Armor and goes head on collision with the Golem. He dodges the attack and  counterattacks with a strong fist to the  Dragons body and knocks Aurora down cracking part of her Stone Armor. The young female Dragon counterattacks with a powerful lighting blast hitting The Steel Golem in the right shoulder injuring him. Develve attacks with a powerful mind blast knocking down the Golem Of Steel on it's back. The Golem Of Steel bleeds blue blood out of his shoulder blade and runs full force towards Adrianna Develve.  She  dashes the attack and counterattacks  with a Shadow Ball attack hitting him in the chest and expanding all over its body. It's a possession Ninjutsu technique making him practically paralyzed for about 2 minutes till he breaks free from the technique but sustains a considerable amount of damage. Adrianna Develve seeing that the Golem Of Steel is showing a sign of weakness she takes advantage to try to inflict him with a spear of lighting into the chest impairing him and he bleeds out the mouth but as the last resolution The Golem Of Steel punches the Audon Crystal shattering it into 5 individual pieces him losing his life in the process however what he didn't know is that Adrianna Develve collected all the pieces however there was a violent explosion at the site shattering huge boulders of steel and inflicting Aurora gravely. Adrianna Develve  hurries and performs a powerful healing spell leaving her drained of all power. Adrianna Develve hurries to get out of the ruins because they are crumbling down. She manages to recover Aurora briefly from there they fly to The Tavern Of Doom Dragons Of Doom Dragons right when she pulls in with Aurora who is injured from the boulders hitting her body and face at high velocity even the Rock Armor was perforated. The Dragon lands barely with Adrianna Develve who gets the Wrath of Granny Bethilda N. Lement. Aurora breathing heavily and bleeding out the mouth slipping in and out of consciousness ...Adrianna Develve barely getting off the Dragon.
Bethilda Lement: What the hell  happened to Aurora she is in really bad shape. Adrianna your completely drained I see you did good by healing her however, she must rest for about 3-4 days now and fully recover from that gruesome fight with that **** Golem Of Steel. Adrianna are you Ok darling? Go get some rest I see you used the forbidden technique of Soul Healing Transfer. Well now you'll live 12 years less thanks to your little sharede. Develve I am thankful that you saved my Dragon from dying but hell consequences are quite dire.
Develve: Here Granny Lement I got Audon's Diamond however it's shattered in 5 separate pieces.
Bethilda N. Lement:  Let me guess the Golem Of Steel did not want this to fall under the wrong hands for it is a powerful relic. Smart move buying time however, useless due to the fact that we got the diamond under our possession. Adrianna we are going to search the Master Forger Of Relics* who can aid us recover this valuable relic to it's original state. It's said that he resides in one of the headquarters of the Order however, he has worked with Witches, Pagans and Nacromancers before so am sure that as long as we provide the right monetary value to repair the relic he'll work for us.
Develve: Why don't we just kidnap him and make him do the work or he pays with his life?
Lement:  Good objective it may have to work that way for us.
Develve: Im aware that the Cyclop population in the Village Of Chalekathan are not taking your threats seriously well ElderLord Gromm has not paid his fee from allowing them to live and not be consumed by the curse itself.
Lement: By killing him we can set an example of what can happen to them if they don't cooperate with our cause.
Develve: It dangerous though he is a strong Leader with lots of powerful influences. Plus he is a highly skilled Witch Doctor/Shaman able to manipulate the forces of nature. Known to use 3 Godly Deities Aikune Chalekathan & Eion. Aikune the cherubim of the Northern Side Of Heaven. Chalekathan the Spirit God embodiment of The Forest Of Whispers and last but not least Eion the mythical creature with an Eagle face 6 wings and the body of a Lion. Embuted with heavenly essence making him a very formidable foe.
Develve:  We will take care of our responsibilities soon but our primary mission is to talk Ayeiton Balderoux III* the Master Forger Of Relics.
: Whoa had no idea he was The Kings kin.
Lement: Indeed he is now go and lay your head and recover some energy because we need to practice your magical plowness.
Adrianna heads towards the Guest Room.

~Meanwhile in The Forest Of Whispers~
Frank Deltoro gets introduced to Gromm ElderLord Of Chalekathan by Jhino.  He also introduces Navarro Castleworth who is pleased to meet the famous Elder.
Gromm: Hello young man I am the protector of this village which has sustained numerous attacks by Lement's Dragons. Develve also partook enthusiastically with her Grandmother in attacking innocent hard working Cyclops. Making them slaves of the Curse which drives them mad and homicidal attacking friends brothers and family so we had to do the inevitable put them down.
Nevertheless, I pray to Deynave Dion High Saint/Priestess Queen Of All Shamanism to protect the lost souls of them Cyclops who fought the curse till the very end but unfortunately lost the fight and in turn lost their lives.
Frank: My condolences to your friends ElderLord Gromm.Am sure they in a better place now at least not suffering. However, I have a personal matter to score with Lement. She kidnapped and murdered my only daughter 10 years ago she was a...his voice gets trembly and he lightly clears his throat..at the same time a solid solo tear drops from his only Eye symbolizing a Fathers great pain and suffering from such an atrocious act." Gromm regains his composure. I got a personal score to settle with Mrs.Lement due to the fact that she took a piece of my heart and soul she killed my daughter. Develve played her part in the kidnapping of my baby girl 10 years ago she would be 18 years old today if Shaila Dair Sultran were alive...her appointed time to be brutally killed by my hand is coming...Bethilda N. Lement has been suppressing her powers for the last 300 years I believe she has some sort of powerful anti-chi barrier put up extending tremendous lengths so even if she is active in The Forest Of Whispers we wouldn't know how to tell due to this **** barrier.
Frank: So your bloodline comes from the Ancient times from the powerful Cyclop Of Royal Priests/Witch Doctors family Sultran.
"A gentle wind blows and Aziel telepathically communicates with Frank.  Aziel: Frank, be careful where you thread I been informed that Lement's Grand-Daughter Adrianna Develve recently gathered Audon's Crystal a powerful diamond known to give its user Bending Steel abilities and higher sustainability. Adrianna Develve has plans to use the Crystal to fully cover the Forest Of Whispers covering every inch of Forest with the Curse which drives all living creatures with a conscious mad totally subseptable to their influence.
However, to you those must be terrible news so my question is...you been in Chalekathan Village for 1 hr and a half you have 5.3 hrs till daylight removing the Darkness powers you currently control.
Frank: I am aware of this Aziel don't worry I'll take care of business.
Aziel: Keep an eye out Navarro I don't  trust him I don't know what intentions he has...plus he is part  of that shady Tower Of Frejoird but perhaps you can use his hatred towards the Order Of The Silver Knights. He can maybe be a reliable source. Be careful Frank.

~Meanwhile in Aziel Castle~
Isis: Well...Aziel aren't  you such a concerned individual...I didn't  know you had a soft spot towards mere humans.
Aziel: I usually don't...but Frank is different from the rest. He is courageous trustworthy and he put his life at risk by helping me regain all my vampiric power. I am in much debt to him...am having second thoughts on your plans to **** him after he completes his assignments that we have agreed upon. If he makes it out alive after all this...he at least deserves a reward and to live.
Isis: Chuckles at Aziel Aziel looks at the Empress with great focus.
Isis: C'mon I'll just have some fun with Frank I wasn't planning to ****** him.
Aziel: I'll  think about it now leave me be I got couple of things I need to take care of.
Isis: Fine Darling I'll  leave you be. You know you are the handsomest of all the brothers you have.
Aziel: Well now Isis you flirting with me...I doubt you'll want my erected tool up your stash. Don't you remember am a Vampire?
Isis: I'm aware of that. Adventure sounds fun plus I never had *** with a hot vampire like yourself.
Isis: Well Doll that is going to be some other time I am working against the clock right now.
Isis: Fine you *****...I'll leave. However, keep in mind that Im watching you closely. Plus remember I still keep contact with DarkLord for soon your Father will be back in this plane of reality.
Aziel: So I have heard.
Isis: Well I have found some juicy
Information about Uriels wereabouts he is in a Modern Castle in America. Amelia St and Cross. Residency 106. He is a huge celebrity in Russia and Germany. Keeps his bloodlust at check with fresh blood always for him to self medicate. Looking only 19 years old he is quite the chick magnet though not my taste his Gothic Progressive Horror Rock made him quite famous. Got 5 albums however kept his personal life well hidden from his fans. Many fake and supportive accounts claiming to know the real Uriel Governale. Though no one truly knows he is a vampire for certain. I know because I searched the private records and found out that he belongs to a High Ranking Secret Society known as Maximillion Vampire Clan. Which performs innocent human babies to be given as a sacrifice towards Baphomet and Azmodeus* 2 Of the Demon Lords of Hell. Your brother belongs to this hidden organization that operates in the Shadows but their latest project is to revive your Father the Progenitor most infamous VampireLord of all time. Dracula! Humanity will cease to exist if he were to be revived. All they need is a vial of blood from all of the current 8 saints and they have their eye on Saint Lauren Glennwald from the Eastern Side of Germany from a small rural community town known as Hertzentmort. She currently 25 years old is on a mission to collect Papal papers for the Order for you know they are closely tied to the papalcy. However, she got body guards that are Elite Knights with very powerful Anti-Witch spells and very accurate at pinpointing weak points in any battle with powerful Witches. So going alone isn't very advisable.<br>
Aziel: I greatly appreciate your information I'll take a look on what my little brother is looking to do. I'll take care of him. Don't you worry I'll be seeing you later. <br>
Isis: Alright..."She steps towards Aziel and rubs his chest and says...my reward is waiting for me...and looks down his pants" <br>
Aziel:  Now your tempting me to destroy that *****... but here this is what you'll get "he shows her his ****"<br>
Isis: Mmmm I can't wait baby...well that's a massive apparatus you got in there just hiding.<br>
Aziel: Hahaha...right. Soon enough I'll be all yours to play with. No leave me.<br>
Isis transforms to a cloud of dark myst and leaves the premises of the Castle.<br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Uriel's Castle~<br>
<br>
The Maximillion Vampire Club had a secret meeting in the Uriel's Castle. There where many prestigious and famous guests there and so was the Highest Ranking Vampire of the Club Maximillion Virgil Vann himself. Inside the Castle where also uninvited guests from The Order Of The Silver Knights pretending to be Vampires. His name Michael Neil Stalwart & his partner Aalyaah Black. Both of them infiltrated the party somehow the Order Of The Silver Knights caught wind of shady operations in the occult club and decided to check it out. Michael & Aalyaah belong to Stealth/Infiltration part of the Order known as The Dark Ones
. Even the last 5 remaining Dark Priests from the Cathedral Of Skylor* where 13 years ago Baphomet was revived and mortalized to walk upon humans granting favors for a price. Ultimately the price Demon Lords require of humans is their souls to consume them and become more powerful. This 5 Dark Priests where very important in the ceremony taking place because tonight at 3 a.m. they will unify their powers to revive Azmodeus. They were successful on bringing back Baphomet back to life so they are trying to revive another Demon Lord. In Baphomet's revival they used 666 unborn fetuses with 6 babies 3 male and 3 female all born under the sign of Capricorn and all must be 3 months premature. With this requirements met...Baphomet was revived to this plane of existence, however since he was violent and still hellbent from transitioning from the hellish plane to a mortal one he killed and consumed 3 Dark Priests in the process of fully coming to his senses and being able to recognize them and thank them for what they done. Baphomet promised that he would aid them 5 Dark Priests revive all 13 Demon Lords and in turn 2 Of the 5 remaining Dark Priests must sacrifice themselves to the Demon Lords for the strongest remaining 3 get a extraordinary reward.
Neo Madime Mar 2014
I still remember you
I lost you because non-commitment was all I could give.
Now I wake with my sheets soaked with the residue from my nightmares, suffocating me.

I long for those days when the sun was setting and hand in hand we'd sit, in silence.
You'd pull me closer to share your excitement with me; grab a fist full of my hair to allow you to enter into matrimony with my lips.

I long to have your presence next to me; to see the rise and fall of your chest reminding me that that is where my home is.
To have you wake me in the morning with your arms protectively caressing  me, rhythmically and suggestively moving along my body...
To have you send shivers down my spine with your hot breath as I feel you smile into my neck

I remember your lips became the metaphor for our young hasty affair:
your lips often grazing every crevice on my body, arousing feelings in me I never thought existed and exciting this dormant precious place between my thighs.

My thighs, which are now the empty hallways you used to roam with so much passion and ferocity used to release waterfalls that cascaded down in a pleasurable release,
long for one more body trembling exhilarating encounter.

But most of all I long to be loved again.
Some things are just forbidden
Abbigail Feb 2014
Mom makes you smile for a picture in front of the bus
on your very first day of school,
"You only have one first day of kindergarten!" she says.
But every time you hear the scratching of leather seats,
You are back to that day
When tears rolled off your tiny pink cheeks,
onto the front of your Lion King tee shirt
The first time you ever had to be afraid that you
would never see her again.

Brother tells you not to worry about the boy that bothered you,
the impact of a fist on his right eye is a warning
that guarantees he'll never disrespect a girl again.
But every time you step in the pebbles on a playground,
You're still struggling to run just slow enough not to slip
yet fast enough to keep from being caught and held captive
by the first boy to ever kiss you without permission.

Grandma tells you to "appreciate today" every day
because you'll never get it back.
But every time you hear the crash of waves against a shoreline,
You're there with her in your favorite place in the world.
And the sun is overhead with looks of never coming down,
But you'd be okay if it did because you swear these colors of
the sunset don't exist when you see it from anywhere else
And you never feel so close to God as you feel right here.

Dad is sad when you're growing up
because you'll only be little once.
But every time you get the surprising scent of metal and grease,
You're five years old again and dad is getting home from work
and he lifts you up in a hug and you bury your face in his shirt and breathe in,
And you're confident that he will carry you to bed later that night
on that same shoulder when you fall asleep on the couch.

You're told over and over to forgive
and your mother keeps trying, too.
But every time a green van passes by,
you're a vulnerable twelve-year-old with a record that says easy prey
and you're back at that police station and you're both still crying
and forgiveness still seems so far away.

Everyone tells you that "first love"
is something you only feel once.
But every time September rolls around,
You're still staring back into the first eyes to look at you in awe,
His palms feel sweaty in yours but you don't mind.
And you can still taste his lips and smell the sweet mint Stride on his breath
and you feel everything.

It’s strange how they promise that you can't turn back time,

yesterday is gone,

today will only happen once.

Because I go back all the time;
And I still feel everything.
Laura Robin Nov 2012
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.

every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...

[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]

the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.

but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.

somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.

it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...

slowly, opening the door.

being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there
]
i stare at this humbling door.

if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
a thing most new complete fragile intense,
which wholly trembling memory undertakes
—your kiss,the little pushings of flesh,makes
my body sorry when the minute moon
is a remarkable splinter in the quick
of twilight
            ….or if sunsets utters one
unhurried muscled huge chromatic
fist skilfully modeling silence
—to feel how through the stopped entire day
horribly and seriously thrills
the moment of enthusiastic space
is a little wonderful, and say
Perhaps her body touched me;and to face
suddenly the lighted living hills
Brent Kincaid Mar 2016
We are the Republicans!
Kneel and bow!
We are superior!
All kowtow!
We deal in campaign funds
Hand and fist.
We believe in oligarchy
With a twist!

We hate democracy
We spit in our hats.
We hate all poor people
Especially Democrats.
We think equality
Is a crime.
Back to the nineteenth century
Doubletime.

There is no place here
In our fine land
Where we give the votes
To our field hands
And women who should all
Be in the kitchen
Instead of out carrying signs
And publically *******.

We are the Republicans!
Kneel and bow!
We are superior!
All kowtow!
We deal in campaign funds
Hand and fist.
We believe in oligarchy
With a twist!

We believe in the Bible which
We mostly never read.
We think all non-Christians
Should be dead.
At least they should not be
Allowed to vote.
That kind of godlessness
Gets our goat.

The only kind of righteous men
Are our own kind.
Not gays, blacks and Mexicans!
What are you, blind?
We ran the show right all along
*******!
The day the other kinds acted up
Was an evil hour.

We are the Republicans!
Kneel and bow!
We are superior!
All kowtow!
We deal in campaign funds
Hand and fist.
We believe in oligarchy
With a twist!
Indie Rodriguez Jan 2012
When it comes to government dissent,
You may have this to say:
“Shut up you fools, you’re out of your minds
You’re causing society to Decay!”

But have you ever stopped to think
“Where on earth would we be
If no one went against the grain
Of the loudest voice in your party?”

For women here, I must impress
The world would be quite bleak:
Less jobs, less pay for equal work,
No right to cast your vote; no voice of which to speak.

Don’t care for feminists you say?
Let me pick up the pace.
If your skin is anything more than white,
It’s all the woes of women plus slavery and segregation by“race.”

If you still suffer from apathy, allow me to shed some light;
If not for past denouncing of authority,
You yourself could lose some rights: No alcohol, no freedom of religious creed
And we would all be under rule of England’s ancient Queen.

If you remain convinced that shouting out in protest is un-American,
Consider the writings of some old white men…
The Declaration of Independence ring a bell?
Try this one on for size:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created EQUAL, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,  that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, —That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

…Brings ******* tears into my eyes.
Garrett Mar 2014
Molten lead fist
Self justification
Slap the face, the maker
Your bleeding heart
For your own penny thoughts
Slap the mirror, the maker
Society isn't the threat
Just your sunken shadow
and your molten, righteous, fist
Nomad Aug 2014
A Fist, A Hammer,
and Some Curtains,
are all just laying around.
A Fist, a Hammer,
Some curtains,
not making a sound.
But what's the difference,
that strikes them all the same?
It's when they're alive,
that's when they all come
down.
melina padron Nov 2014
maybe you didn’t feel it
when i licked myself
off of your lips.

maybe you didn’t feel it
when i traced the back of
your knees with my fingertips.

maybe you didn’t feel it
when you rolled over in the
morning and saw how well we fit.

i knew it when you
picked the eyelash off my  
cheek because it felt like a kiss.

i knew it when you
took the long way home so there’d
be a few less seconds to miss.

i knew it when you
would wake up and leave me because
my heart would contort into a fist-

all so i’d never have to let you go.
but you would never know.
Angelique Oct 2016
awarness that is nearly tangible
--clenched in a moral fist where it will thrive amongst the genius, the vile and the emotionally crumbled
marina Jul 2013
i heard once on the playground that the human heart
is about the size of it's owner's fist;
that day i spent my whole afternoon
gathering handfuls of earth within the
palms of my hands just to see
how much i could hold, as if that could show me
how much i was capable of loving, but dirt
slipped through my fingers when i loosened my
grip, and i was scared that people were the same
(even at eight, i knew that sometimes the only reason
people stayed was because you held them too tight,
and if midnight provided a last-minute flight
they wouldn't hesitate to catch it because holding on
was harder than running away).
later on, i tried to catch people like fish,
reeling them in and then leaving them on a hook
because when i held them at a distance they were
pretty to look at and i could feel their heat, but when i
clutched them close to my chest, underneath my line of
sight, it was much easier for them to
break and hide.  that all changed when i met
you though; i disabled all my traps and
reached out to you with bare fingers, telling myself
if i could hide you between my hands then
maybe you wouldn't mind hiding in my heart.
i started out timid, grasping handfuls of your
shirt and the way your laugh sounded when it was
me that caused it, and sometimes at night
when i pretended you were there with me, i would
reach out for you, but daylight was different
and i've always had small hands

(i realized it was never about taking your heart when you
reached for my hand and held it like it was your favourite secret
you couldn't keep any longer; it was about letting you have mine)
(ps: you're my favourite secret too)
&this; is a mess because it's unedited but i'm lazy so yeah.  and sorry for freaking out on my last poem.  to anybody who commented, thank you- it meant a lot.  i managed to get through okay.  thank you.
Asphyxiophilia Jul 2013
It's 3 am and you're restless again. Your thoughts wander briskly through the fields of memories of him and you find yourself picking each one and holding it delicately in your palm. The lights from the streetlamps outside your window peek through the blinds and illuminate synthetic stars onto your ceiling which you count like each kiss he ever placed on your cheek. Your legs are wrapped up in your sheets like the way they used to tangle around his ankles every evening. You roll onto your side and attempt to close your eyes once more, calling out to a peaceful slumber that has been evading you for weeks when suddenly, you hear a whistle in the distance. You open your eyes again to see the stars growing into spotlights that threaten to swallow you like black holes, but without the mystery. You immediately grab your wrists out of fear that you unconsciously took a blade to them but you are greeted by scars that have been forming for approximately three years (and eleven months). Your heart threatens to pound its fist through your chest as you slowly turn to see what the source of the light is. Just as your shoulders align with your mattress, a man steps from what appears to be a train engine and greets you with a nod of his head.
"Good evening, sleeping beauty," he begins sweetly, "I have come to extend an invitation to the night train."
You bring your hands to your eyes and attempt to wipe the hallucination away from your vision but when you open them again, you see the man gazing intently.
"It is my understanding that this is your first meeting with the night train," he states as he waits for you to supply an answer.
You nod your head.
"Well, my dear, the night train is here to offer a sweet elixir to cure this sleepless evening. You see, the night train's purpose is to supply the recipient ("that's you," he says behind his hand) exactly twenty minutes of time spent anywhere of their choosing. And then, once the time is up, the recipient must board the train once more, and will be met with approximately eight hours of uninterrupted slumber." He pauses as an assurance that you are following along, so you nod your head slightly. "However, the catch, you see, is that if the recipient does not board the train at the end of the twenty minutes, they will find themselves trapped in a restless oblivion with the promise of never again finding the comfort of sleep." A slight smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head out of sympathy. "This may not seem to be much of a threat considering you are currently wrapped up tightly in your bed, but I assure you it will be tempting to remain within the place of your choosing, despite the whistle of the night train."
Unsure of what else to do, you nod your head once more.
"Alas, now we must be on our way, because the countdown begins in exactly three minutes! So I urge you to think quickly of where you would like to be taken!"
As though the train has suddenly run into your chest, the meaning of the opportunity that has been placed in front of you knocks the wind out of you. Before the conductor even finished his sentence, you knew exactly where you wanted to go, so you swing your legs to the side of the bed and push yourself upright.
"I would like to be taken to July 13th at precisely 2:32 in the morning," you say quickly as you flatten your restless hair to your head and straighten the t-shirt you are wearing.
"Very well, very well. Now board the train, my dear. And we'll be off to the morning of July 13th, but I urge you not to forget your time limit of twenty minutes!" He places his hand on your back and ushers you into the train, guiding you to a red velvet seat lined with golden stitching. Once you are comfortable, he disappears into the cabin and blows the whistle before pulling out of the station that is your bedroom.
With no warning at all, you feel a tightening in the pit of your stomach and before you even have time to clench, you are sitting on a rooftop overlooking a vibrant city.
"I just don't know anymore. It's like- It's like everything I once knew has been flipped upside-down and I'm just expected to be okay with it. But I'm not."
You blink a few times in an effort to adjust to the sudden deja-vu that causes your head to swim in the memory of an evening you have constantly waded in.
He is sitting with one leg tucked beneath him and the other dangling over the edge, as though even his limbs can't decide whether they want to take the fatal plunge or not. His hair was always absent of color, the kind of black that made you question the material of the universe because even the night sky couldn't compare to the degree of darkness; but it seemed to be doing just that as it laid haphazardly across his pale forehead. His bony fingers are clutching a nearly empty bottle of gin which he brings to his lips between sentences. He continues speaking as though you didn't just appear out of thin air beside him.
"My mum doesn't even pretend to understand anymore. I've heard her mention boarding school at least three times this week, despite my constant refusal to even speak of it. She knows the walls in the apartment are paper thin, so I know she brings it up because she knows I can hear it. But I don't want to hear it."
You notice the vacant look in his eyes as he stares into the horizon, like a hotel room that has been emptied of every belonging, including the light bulbs. He uses his free hand to adjust the collar of his leather jacket before taking another swig of the gin.
"I just can't stay there anymore, and she knows that. Deep down, she knows I can't stay there now that he's gone. I just can't."
His voice is as hollow as his chest as he uses his tongue to wet his lips before turning his head slightly to look at you.
"I wish you could come with me, I really do. It would be quite the adventure, the kind that we used to dream of having. But I can only afford one ticket out of town."
He places the bottle on the ledge, dangerously close to the edge, before resting his sweaty palm on your exposed thigh. His eyes travel from your legs to your forehead, and he leans forward to place a kiss on it, but he misses and falls into your lips. Just like before, your hands land on either side of his face, catching him before he falls completely, and you suddenly find yourself exploring the warm cavern of his vulnerability. His tongue swirls around your own and you taste the bite of the alcohol on his breath but this is the moment you have always craved so you soak up every bit of it. He pulls away just as your heart starts to tremble, and he wipes his mouth with his sleeve before picking the bottle up again and stealing a drink.
"I wish you could come with me," he says again, his eyes now focused on the street below. "But I fear I can only afford one ticket out of town."
Just then, you hear a whistle, but the timing isn't right. This is the moment you would have died to change, and now you've been given a second opportunity, but you can feel it slipping away.
You lean towards him, softly placing your hand on his arm.
"Come with me. We can go anywhere in the world that you please, and I promise it'll be better than here or there if we're together. Because I can't go where you're going, because I can't pay that price, but I want to go away with you, I do."
You search his empty expression, hoping to grab some string of familiarity that you can use to pull him back to reality, but his eyes are locked on the parallel lines beneath.
The whistle grows louder, this time stinging your eardrums, and you know that your time is running short, but you can't let him go.
"You don't have to go back to your apartment, you don't have to go back to your mum. We can runaway tonight, together. You and me, just the way it was always meant to be."
Your voice is shaking and desperate, getting louder with each word that you speak as the whistle blows from behind you, threatening to leave.
Just then, a hand falls upon your shoulder, and for a second you allow yourself to glance over, and it is in that second that the body before you tips over the rooftop's edge. Your heart falls like a weight in your stomach, just like on the evening this event first occurred, anchoring you to the cement and preventing you from going after him. The conductor who now stands behind you grabs your torso and pulls you backwards as you scream his name into the night sky. You kick against his hold as he drags you back onto the train and into the velvet seat again.
This time, you were unable to hear his body land on the pavement.
This time, you weren't able to look down and see his hands lying ten feet away from the rest of his body.
This time, you didn't get to perch on the edge and contemplate for hours joining him.
This time, you couldn't blame yourself for being speechless, for letting him be the star of his shining moment, because you attempted to be his Juliet.
You didn't realize you were still screaming until the conductor grabbed your shoulders with his hands and shook you quickly.
"Quiet my dear, I fear it is time to go. And I was unwilling to allow you to remain any longer, but I fear you will only be receiving six hours of peaceful slumber."
You look at him sternly, unsure how he can continue to speak of this ****** night train and its guidelines after you just watched the love of your life commit suicide for the second time.
You take a deep breath before speaking, "I don't understand the point of this, why bring me here if I couldn't change anything? Why allow me to relive this if it didn't make a difference?"
He smiles sympathetically before beginning, "oh but it did. You see, for three and a half years you have been tossing and turning, wondering what you would have done differently and if you would have been able to change it. But you see, the past isn't something that can be changed. It can only be relived again and again within the minds of those who continue to contain it, and the pain of the past and the memories that come along with it will feel just as real as the day they happened if you continue to dwell on them. Eventually you will see that tonight made a significant difference, because you were finally able to recreate the scenario that you always dreamed."
Your mind is running at a faster speed than the train as it makes its way back to your bedroom, and you can't seem to comprehend what the conductor is saying.
"So you're telling me that the whole reason behind this was to show me that he was going to die whether or not I tried to convince him otherwise?"
He places a gentle hand on your shaking shoulder and replies, "the reason behind this was to allow you to finally put the past behind you and grant yourself the pleasure of peaceful slumber. Because you see, my dear, there is no such thing as the night train. It is merely a figment of your imagination. Deep inside you, you realize that nothing you said could have changed that night, but you needed to dream another possibility in order to believe it. Now believe it."
"But I-" you begin to speak but in the blink of an eye, you're suddenly sitting on the side of your bed, your shoulders no longer shaking. You blink again, trying to make sense of everything. You bring your hands to your face and feel your cheeks, reassuring yourself that you still exist. You look around once more, noticing the stars upon your ceiling twinkling as though they are winking at you like the conductor of a mysterious night train. But you realize that you are in your bedroom, in your t-shirt, as though you never moved beyond that point. And you find that you're unsure whether it was all a dream, or whether you really did go for a ride on a night train, but you decide to lie back down and attempt to sleep anyways.
And six hours later, you find yourself awaking from a very peaceful slumber.
Bad Luck Jun 2014
Cheated and defeated –
                      my mistakes, themselves, repeated...
A monster made of gluttony;
                     I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
Which brings up some emotions -
                               Or maybe, they’re allusions?
But, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .  
                       All the while, stretching skin.

                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
Once I took a second step, I guess I chose to dance.

               Oh, what a performance it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!

                 Although, I’m not sure when that is…
                            As I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      When my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.

Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I’ll trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.

Gaining speed, with increasing malice
I hopped right on
        And chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

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The sky crackles and I feel the most alone.

Just like that day in the woods.

My special place was off the trail, but he couldn't have known me,

I was so young and such an idiot,

Not everyone is genuine but I was so trusting,

I can still smell the sickening mixture of fresh-fallen rain,his sweat, the mud around the creek and salt from my tears.

With every atmospheric collision from the sky
my stomach churns tasting the blood in my mouth from his fist thundering against my tear stained cheeks.

When the wind blows  
I can still feel his callous hands bruising and exploring my unwilling body, and scraping against
the most intimate parts of me.

The lightning is when I remember the rock that found my desperate palms and crashing against his temple

The wind howls and the rain finally starts to fall then, near my belly button burns just like it did when the blade he swung wildly cut me before I could run and the water is my heartbeat pounding  in my ears,
but I can hear him behind me
The rush If my blood reminding me I’m still alive mind begging me to stay that way, his threats pushing me further

Head pounding ,body burning,
I burst through my front door

And then I start to cry
Rain storms are actually very hard for me to get through due to some other traumas but the storm that passed when I wrote this smelled like that day. Thunder really triggers me especially when I'm alone I used to cry in school when it thundered in the weeks after this incident but then I started to internalize it and I'd just be really quiet on those days. Trigger Warning, ****, molestation, violent attaked on a minor.
Brian Payamps Sep 2014
Hands are such a unique feature in our bodies
I mean, hands let us feel what we can't see
1 2 3,....456789 10
fingers, describe our feelings when we speak.
I mean just picture how my hands move in my poetry
Hands  God's greatest creation on us.
Hands are for love
when one has fallen we reach out hoping
to grab on to someones... hands..
have their own counter parts
because when we hold hands is funny how each one my fingers fit perfectly in the gaps of yours.
These are our hands
Hands used for love
but not all hands are the same
some are used for hate
a set of clenched fingers turn your hands into a fist
a fist which is use to strike in violence or self defense
but those clenched fingers that are laid upon a woman are those of a coward.
Hands are not just for feeling they are for more
they are your identity
from every ashed knuckle to every cut
Hands have a story for us

look your hands and tell the story it tells

— The End —