"mutter" poems - Hello Poetry

"mutter" poems

Am I the only one that has their demons feasting upon their souls? They say it is easy to tie a noose around your mind, To overcome the urges and temptations of ending your life with a suicide They don't know the true pain and torment that is going on in my head An epic battle that leaves me with restless nights in bed "End your life already" they say, as they prey on me during my weakest hours Sometimes I give into the voices, carrying the sharp blade to my wrist Crying as I struggle to mutter three powerful words that keeps me going Choking on my sobs, my lungs deflate with a desire to say that God loves me I try to convince myself that God is trying to test my faith And to just wait, wait and wait Then my Demons will eventually go AWAY..... ~Imperfect Desire **

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Mar 4, 2015

Mar 4, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC

Am I the only one that has their demons feasting upon their souls? They say it is easy to tie a noose around your mind, To overcome the urges and temptations of ending your life with a suicide They don't know the true pain and torment that is going on in my head An epic battle that leaves me with restless nights in bed "End your life already" they say, as they prey on me during my weakest hours Sometimes I give into the voices, carrying the sharp blade to my wrist Crying as I struggle to mutter three powerful words that keeps me going Choking on my sobs, my lungs deflate with a desire to say that God loves me I try to convince myself that God is trying to test my faith And to just wait, wait and wait Then my Demons will eventually go AWAY..... ~Imperfect Desire **

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Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock. They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet. They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up. They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands. They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways. But then Monday comes... Mondays are different. He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays. So he changes that. He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her. He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors. He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her. She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep. He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently. She smiles on Monday mornings. They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up. She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear. It remains there ‘til night fall. They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind. Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.

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Apr 15, 2014

Apr 15, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC

Monday Mornings

Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock. They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet. They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up. They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands. They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways. But then Monday comes... Mondays are different. He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays. So he changes that. He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her. He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors. He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her. She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep. He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently. She smiles on Monday mornings. They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up. She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear. It remains there ‘til night fall. They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind. Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.

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We sit beneath the mango tree You say, “I’ve got to go one day, you see…” I nod and smile for that’s far away… And I know deep down you really want to stay So we talk and learn about our lives Blaze right past all the normal lies I say, “I think I’m gonna miss you some…” You laugh and say, “God, you’re young.” If I’d known then how this was going to go There were more things I would have let you know Like that time we sat under the mango tree And my heart stopped when you first kissed me... While you were packing up your little home I was sitting, waiting by the phone Wondering where I’d gone so wrong Wishing your determinations weren’t so strong… The weeks crawl by and you don’t call I take the frustration out on my bedroom wall We both knew that this had to end But for that short time it was awfully nice to pretend So we meet under the mango tree I stare at you, and you stare back at me You say, “You knew I had to go one day.” I mutter back, “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.” Then like a tragedy I left you there Unable to hold your penetrating stare There were more things that we both should’ve said But it seems we took the easy road instead The road whose paths would never have to cross So we’d never have to think about what we have lost But sometimes I still pass that mango tree And remember how you used to look at me, Smile about those shining, sapphire eyes, Marvel at the tree’s growing size, Laugh about the brief time we shared And pack away the memories with care

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Oct 6, 2011

Oct 6, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC

elizabeth-foley

We sit beneath the mango tree You say, “I’ve got to go one day, you see…” I nod and smile for that’s far away… And I know deep down you really want to stay So we talk and learn about our lives Blaze right past all the normal lies I say, “I think I’m gonna miss you some…” You laugh and say, “God, you’re young.” If I’d known then how this was going to go There were more things I would have let you know Like that time we sat under the mango tree And my heart stopped when you first kissed me... While you were packing up your little home I was sitting, waiting by the phone Wondering where I’d gone so wrong Wishing your determinations weren’t so strong… The weeks crawl by and you don’t call I take the frustration out on my bedroom wall We both knew that this had to end But for that short time it was awfully nice to pretend So we meet under the mango tree I stare at you, and you stare back at me You say, “You knew I had to go one day.” I mutter back, “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.” Then like a tragedy I left you there Unable to hold your penetrating stare There were more things that we both should’ve said But it seems we took the easy road instead The road whose paths would never have to cross So we’d never have to think about what we have lost But sometimes I still pass that mango tree And remember how you used to look at me, Smile about those shining, sapphire eyes, Marvel at the tree’s growing size, Laugh about the brief time we shared And pack away the memories with care

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Sundays on the ranch are somethin', Just after morning chores are done, I head up to the house on a dead run, I've called the herd and put the buckets out, Fed the chickens, called the horse, "Old Son," Heard the rooster yammering at the rising sun; Old dog is baying loud to add some fun.... Meanwhile, at the house, The wife has rattled up the kids and lined em out, When I come in, they clear the bathroom out, So I can get a shave and morning shower, And off we'll head to church in half an hour. Or so we think.... It's then the neighbor calls to say our milk cow's swinging by, Bell clanking off-step time to her butter-churning udder, "She's headed north toward town!" he chortles mirth, "Maybe she wants to hear old Pastor Perth!" I mutter. All jokes aside, I hang the phone and grab my cap, We pile in the truck to try and get her back.... We have a chance if we can turn her 'round above the hill.... Why is it Sundays sweet Dolly becomes such a pill? A simple rule of nature I wish I could avoid, Is if a plan is put in place, as sure as Lloyd, Our Guernsey chooses then to go out on a spree, And Pastor Perth in town prays extra hard for me.

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Nov 29, 2014

Nov 29, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC

Cow on the Lam!

Sundays on the ranch are somethin', Just after morning chores are done, I head up to the house on a dead run, I've called the herd and put the buckets out, Fed the chickens, called the horse, "Old Son," Heard the rooster yammering at the rising sun; Old dog is baying loud to add some fun.... Meanwhile, at the house, The wife has rattled up the kids and lined em out, When I come in, they clear the bathroom out, So I can get a shave and morning shower, And off we'll head to church in half an hour. Or so we think.... It's then the neighbor calls to say our milk cow's swinging by, Bell clanking off-step time to her butter-churning udder, "She's headed north toward town!" he chortles mirth, "Maybe she wants to hear old Pastor Perth!" I mutter. All jokes aside, I hang the phone and grab my cap, We pile in the truck to try and get her back.... We have a chance if we can turn her 'round above the hill.... Why is it Sundays sweet Dolly becomes such a pill? A simple rule of nature I wish I could avoid, Is if a plan is put in place, as sure as Lloyd, Our Guernsey chooses then to go out on a spree, And Pastor Perth in town prays extra hard for me.

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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.

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Apr 20, 2014

Apr 20, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC

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.

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OCD is not all about remembering the freckles on her cheeks or telling her I love you repetitively OCD is waking up at 2 in the morning after you have spent hours trying to delude yourself into thinking that your hands are clean only to end up in your washroom trying to rub your skin off. (all because a stranger touched me on the sidewalk a month ago) OCD is being in an abusive relationship with yourself. Your logic won't let you give in, but like a desperate lover, your OCD won't let you go. So you keep swinging, tick tock, to and fro, like the broken clock in the store room you can't get yourself to throw out because it belonged to your nana. OCD is not finally finding a peace of moment when he looks at you but it is biting your teeth into your lips trying to hold in the cringe when he carelessly wipes his greasy hands on the napkin. "Don't complain, don't complain" you mutter to yourself as you throw a hand sanitiser his way. (please don't leave me) OCD is rearranging the pictures frame on the shelf for the fifteenth time a day because last time your brother interrupted you and so you might as well start again. OCD is the worry in your mum's eyes as she invites the guests to show them your room while she keeps throwing you cautious glances as someone touches your books. (I'm sorry, ma. I can't help it) OCD is reading the same line again and again, a part of your brain asks you why since you got it right the first time. You don't know why, but you keep doing it just to be sure. Check the door if it's locked properly before sleeping. Once, twice, thrice till it's morning already and it's time to wake up. (another sleepless night, God **** it) OCD is all these fuzzy voices mixed around with the signals from your brain telling you that your life will fall apart, if, just for this once, you do anything different.

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Apr 22, 2017

Apr 22, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC

AthousandMidnightEpiphanies

OCD is not all about remembering the freckles on her cheeks or telling her I love you repetitively OCD is waking up at 2 in the morning after you have spent hours trying to delude yourself into thinking that your hands are clean only to end up in your washroom trying to rub your skin off. (all because a stranger touched me on the sidewalk a month ago) OCD is being in an abusive relationship with yourself. Your logic won't let you give in, but like a desperate lover, your OCD won't let you go. So you keep swinging, tick tock, to and fro, like the broken clock in the store room you can't get yourself to throw out because it belonged to your nana. OCD is not finally finding a peace of moment when he looks at you but it is biting your teeth into your lips trying to hold in the cringe when he carelessly wipes his greasy hands on the napkin. "Don't complain, don't complain" you mutter to yourself as you throw a hand sanitiser his way. (please don't leave me) OCD is rearranging the pictures frame on the shelf for the fifteenth time a day because last time your brother interrupted you and so you might as well start again. OCD is the worry in your mum's eyes as she invites the guests to show them your room while she keeps throwing you cautious glances as someone touches your books. (I'm sorry, ma. I can't help it) OCD is reading the same line again and again, a part of your brain asks you why since you got it right the first time. You don't know why, but you keep doing it just to be sure. Check the door if it's locked properly before sleeping. Once, twice, thrice till it's morning already and it's time to wake up. (another sleepless night, God **** it) OCD is all these fuzzy voices mixed around with the signals from your brain telling you that your life will fall apart, if, just for this once, you do anything different.

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I must say your conversation is not interesting . What do I got to do so we could start kissing. The only thing I want to learn from is your name The only I want are your lips and hips. Let's skip this boring introduction . Lets us go to that lonesome chamber the one the service any guest and pretend it’s ours tonight. Let me just feel the weight your body . Place my hand any part you want me to touch you. I never been great in reading people minds . Sorry sometimes I get so lonely My mind gets a bit naughty All I got this lustful love to give Sometimes I confuse those words . In my raw desires I hide a long for affection Don’t blame me if I hug threw the night. Do you think I'm crazy ? Does my random mutter annoy you ? why are you teasing me Why are you keeping mouth silent Why are you licking you lips like that why do you keep looking at me with those eyes She said “shh no more talking” She was gone before delight

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Oct 12, 2014

Oct 12, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC

I must say your conversation is not interesting . What do I got to do so we could start kissing. The only thing I want to learn from is your name The only I want are your lips and hips. Let's skip this boring introduction . Lets us go to that lonesome chamber the one the service any guest and pretend it’s ours tonight. Let me just feel the weight your body . Place my hand any part you want me to touch you. I never been great in reading people minds . Sorry sometimes I get so lonely My mind gets a bit naughty All I got this lustful love to give Sometimes I confuse those words . In my raw desires I hide a long for affection Don’t blame me if I hug threw the night. Do you think I'm crazy ? Does my random mutter annoy you ? why are you teasing me Why are you keeping mouth silent Why are you licking you lips like that why do you keep looking at me with those eyes She said “shh no more talking” She was gone before delight

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It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost Should be visible at sunset, Those million tons of light Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips, And I sometimes see a falling star. If I could come on meteorite! Instead I walk through damp leaves, Husks, the spent flukes of autumn, Imagining a hero On some muddy compound, His gift like a slingstone Whirled for the desperate. How did I end up like this? I often think of my friends' Beautiful prismatic counselling And the anvil brains of some who hate me As I sit weighing and weighing My responsible tristia. For what? For the ear? For the people? For what is said behind-backs? Rain comes down through the alders, Its low conductive voices Mutter about let-downs and erosions And yet each drop recalls The diamond absolutes. I am neither internee nor informer; An inner émigré, grown long-haired And thoughtful; a wood-kerne Escaped from the massacre, Taking protective colouring From bole and bark, feeling Every wind that blows; Who, blowing up these sparks For their meagre heat, have missed The once-in-a-lifetime portent, The comet's pulsing rose.

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8.1k

It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost Should be visible at sunset, Those million tons of light Like a glimmer of haws and rose-hips, And I sometimes see a falling star. If I could come on meteorite! Instead I walk through damp leaves, Husks, the spent flukes of autumn, Imagining a hero On some muddy compound, His gift like a slingstone Whirled for the desperate. How did I end up like this? I often think of my friends' Beautiful prismatic counselling And the anvil brains of some who hate me As I sit weighing and weighing My responsible tristia. For what? For the ear? For the people? For what is said behind-backs? Rain comes down through the alders, Its low conductive voices Mutter about let-downs and erosions And yet each drop recalls The diamond absolutes. I am neither internee nor informer; An inner émigré, grown long-haired And thoughtful; a wood-kerne Escaped from the massacre, Taking protective colouring From bole and bark, feeling Every wind that blows; Who, blowing up these sparks For their meagre heat, have missed The once-in-a-lifetime portent, The comet's pulsing rose.

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Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my thoughts Free my soul of fond hopes of naught; Of brokenness these dreams had taught; Of ceaseless pain this life has brought. This heart is weary of shouting; Of being empty yet drowning In insipid words befuddling; In ashed promises succumbing. **** this anguish feasting inside That this shiv may be put aside; These damp sheets be given a rest, And that may bliss in this room nest. Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my sigh, The words I'll mutter as lie Below the grass, hear my cry; My soliloquies ere I die. The dreams that I wove with your strings Are dreams that 'til I slumber clings; Dreams that on stars I'll be wishing That I with the stars be dreaming. Farewell to you, dear moon, I say Awake I can no longer stay In peace on this bed I shall lay, Never again shall I rise, I pray. So dreamcatcher croon me to sleep And let me drown in thoughts so deep Don't wake me up, I had enough Last wish: I be gone in a puff.

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Jan 29, 2014

Jan 29, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC

Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my thoughts Free my soul of fond hopes of naught; Of brokenness these dreams had taught; Of ceaseless pain this life has brought. This heart is weary of shouting; Of being empty yet drowning In insipid words befuddling; In ashed promises succumbing. **** this anguish feasting inside That this shiv may be put aside; These damp sheets be given a rest, And that may bliss in this room nest. Hail, dreamcatcher, hear now my sigh, The words I'll mutter as lie Below the grass, hear my cry; My soliloquies ere I die. The dreams that I wove with your strings Are dreams that 'til I slumber clings; Dreams that on stars I'll be wishing That I with the stars be dreaming. Farewell to you, dear moon, I say Awake I can no longer stay In peace on this bed I shall lay, Never again shall I rise, I pray. So dreamcatcher croon me to sleep And let me drown in thoughts so deep Don't wake me up, I had enough Last wish: I be gone in a puff.

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Is that the lowest moment? When you don't dare to wear shorts because of the scars that cover your legs. And then you're sitting there at the dinner table with your family, And they keep on telling you to eat, But all you mutter is "I'm not hungry", When you actually are. You're starving but your image is worth more than a meal. You eat a few bites just to shut them up, And then run to the bathroom to rid yourself of it, To make sure you can fit into those jeans, The ones that could stand you losing another 5 pounds. You get used to the lies of: "I'm not hungry" "I ate before I came" And "oh yeah I'm fine, just tired". Is that your lowest point, When the only food you're feeding yourself is lies?

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May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC

Is that the lowest moment? When you don't dare to wear shorts because of the scars that cover your legs. And then you're sitting there at the dinner table with your family, And they keep on telling you to eat, But all you mutter is "I'm not hungry", When you actually are. You're starving but your image is worth more than a meal. You eat a few bites just to shut them up, And then run to the bathroom to rid yourself of it, To make sure you can fit into those jeans, The ones that could stand you losing another 5 pounds. You get used to the lies of: "I'm not hungry" "I ate before I came" And "oh yeah I'm fine, just tired". Is that your lowest point, When the only food you're feeding yourself is lies?

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*The world where I stood was a desert thirsty for a pint of rain; longing for a kiss that never came.* Not until you did. Everything started with a droplet of your essence, Out of nowhere. Unexpected. YOU... yes you MANIFESTED. *Without notice, you took me by surprise. A beautiful surprise I say. For the first time in a while I felt, my worries washed away by your presence. Hot sand turned mud where then I lay. In those moments I lost, all anxieties brought by drought. When through the years I thought I'd never touch the rain I ought to ardently pray for every night. Imbued I was with your* "love". clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk. *your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle. This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle. Moments passed faster than it seemed. I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.* I slurped. I gulped. I glugged. *as much as I could, never thinking of what I would drink in the latter. When the land runs dry; when then again,* I'm deprived of water. *So then, what caught me by surprise, left without a word... woah,* SURPRISE! everything turned back the way it was; an arid heart in a blink of an eye. *But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense, of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;* I smell– *Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour. My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck. A waft that distorts the senses of this* consumed man. Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone... Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.

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Oct 18, 2014

Oct 18, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC

*The world where I stood was a desert thirsty for a pint of rain; longing for a kiss that never came.* Not until you did. Everything started with a droplet of your essence, Out of nowhere. Unexpected. YOU... yes you MANIFESTED. *Without notice, you took me by surprise. A beautiful surprise I say. For the first time in a while I felt, my worries washed away by your presence. Hot sand turned mud where then I lay. In those moments I lost, all anxieties brought by drought. When through the years I thought I'd never touch the rain I ought to ardently pray for every night. Imbued I was with your* "love". clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk. *your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle. This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle. Moments passed faster than it seemed. I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.* I slurped. I gulped. I glugged. *as much as I could, never thinking of what I would drink in the latter. When the land runs dry; when then again,* I'm deprived of water. *So then, what caught me by surprise, left without a word... woah,* SURPRISE! everything turned back the way it was; an arid heart in a blink of an eye. *But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense, of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;* I smell– *Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour. My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck. A waft that distorts the senses of this* consumed man. Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone... Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.

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I am a chubby girl And when I sit on busses And hear the people behind me laugh My heart skips a beat I am a chubby girl And when it rains I am paranoid people think I am wearing a sheet not a coat I am a chubby girl And when I walk My thighs jiggle and Sometimes they clap I am a chubby girl And when I see a shop Assistant mutter I curse My size I am a chubby girl And when they shout their words Leaving needle marks Instead of punctuation I cry I am a chubby girl And skipping dinner just Made me hate myself I am a chubby girl And throwing up just made The pain come out I am a chubby girl, wait I am a girl And I am beautiful I love my body like my mother Loved my baby cheeks Like I should ve done From the start

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Jul 9, 2014

Jul 9, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC

violet-avery-novak

I am a chubby girl And when I sit on busses And hear the people behind me laugh My heart skips a beat I am a chubby girl And when it rains I am paranoid people think I am wearing a sheet not a coat I am a chubby girl And when I walk My thighs jiggle and Sometimes they clap I am a chubby girl And when I see a shop Assistant mutter I curse My size I am a chubby girl And when they shout their words Leaving needle marks Instead of punctuation I cry I am a chubby girl And skipping dinner just Made me hate myself I am a chubby girl And throwing up just made The pain come out I am a chubby girl, wait I am a girl And I am beautiful I love my body like my mother Loved my baby cheeks Like I should ve done From the start

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Lisbeth stands watching The artist as he prepares To sketch. Her elder sisters Stand in shadows whispering. Her younger sister plays With her doll on the floor. Their father said to do as The artist instructed and Don’t misbehave or be rude. The artist stares hard his Dark eyes searching their Every move and expression And body gesture. The elder Girls mutter in shadows Their hands over their mouths Their blue eyes like shallow Pools. Ready? The artist Asks putting charcoal to Paper his fingers blackening. Lisbeth says just as we are? The artist nods. His grim Features express do not disturb. The youngest sister plays Ignoring the artist her eyes set On the game at hand. The girls In shadow turn their profiles Set to mystery their hands on Their abdomens like guardians Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as She watches the artist’s stiff Moustache and beard the slow Movement of his mouth as he Mouths words and stares hard. The last artist employed some Year before younger and less Brutal in expression and manner Had drawn them each in private Rooms and set them down on couch Or bed and kept their images inside His head. He was dismissed and the Drawings destroyed and nothing said. Lisbeth had thought it just a game Something done as lover might in Private corners or lonely spots on Quiet nights. The artist sketches. His blackened fingers move and Made their mark. Their images Captured. The scene set. One sister In the shadows yawns the other Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth Poses as young girls do. Nothing To show of interest and nothing Hid no secret self no other you. That’s it the artist says we’ll begin The painting another day maybe Next week if all is well. The girls In shadow look away and resume Their secret games. Lisbeth studies The artist’s blackened fingers as He rolls the charcoal sketch and Puts away. He gazes at her standing By herself a glimpse of smile and Glimmer in her eyes like small fires. He closes the tired lids of eyes And smoulders down his old desires.

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Apr 19, 2012

Apr 19, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC

LISBETH AND THE ARTIST.

Lisbeth stands watching The artist as he prepares To sketch. Her elder sisters Stand in shadows whispering. Her younger sister plays With her doll on the floor. Their father said to do as The artist instructed and Don’t misbehave or be rude. The artist stares hard his Dark eyes searching their Every move and expression And body gesture. The elder Girls mutter in shadows Their hands over their mouths Their blue eyes like shallow Pools. Ready? The artist Asks putting charcoal to Paper his fingers blackening. Lisbeth says just as we are? The artist nods. His grim Features express do not disturb. The youngest sister plays Ignoring the artist her eyes set On the game at hand. The girls In shadow turn their profiles Set to mystery their hands on Their abdomens like guardians Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as She watches the artist’s stiff Moustache and beard the slow Movement of his mouth as he Mouths words and stares hard. The last artist employed some Year before younger and less Brutal in expression and manner Had drawn them each in private Rooms and set them down on couch Or bed and kept their images inside His head. He was dismissed and the Drawings destroyed and nothing said. Lisbeth had thought it just a game Something done as lover might in Private corners or lonely spots on Quiet nights. The artist sketches. His blackened fingers move and Made their mark. Their images Captured. The scene set. One sister In the shadows yawns the other Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth Poses as young girls do. Nothing To show of interest and nothing Hid no secret self no other you. That’s it the artist says we’ll begin The painting another day maybe Next week if all is well. The girls In shadow look away and resume Their secret games. Lisbeth studies The artist’s blackened fingers as He rolls the charcoal sketch and Puts away. He gazes at her standing By herself a glimpse of smile and Glimmer in her eyes like small fires. He closes the tired lids of eyes And smoulders down his old desires.

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Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Jun 25, 2012

Jun 25, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC

Red Colleen ( cailín rua dearg )

Your lips, soft and full, Are tearing at my heart. Your skin, freckled and bumped, Is at play with my palms. Your eyes, of water and stone Rain, storming like fists of hail. Your ******* are blooms, pouring Like white chocolate cupped. Your hair, is a loom even Penelope could not weave. Your little feet, are drumming Like puddles by the sea. Your thighs, make me mutter And sigh into the winds. I will, not go wondering now For whom is master and who Is slave, are you the Morgen Or are you Fand my gentle Ocean wave? Your voice Is song, your breath is air And your pooling, marbled Face, torso, hair, how they beckon And your words, gifting melody, Such words must be forbidden.

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Blue skies are now a vibrant shade of red, Unavoidable screaming can be heard, Thousands of souls who have suffered and bled, The survivors mutter words that are slurred. Lying awake reflecting on the past, “How could I have not saved my dear brother?” Inner demons fight me as if I asked. I remember those eyes like no other, A small bullet that travelled through his chest, My name was the last to be spoken. Tears escape my eyes for my big brother. Right through my heart I feel a gust of wind, Unrecognised now I am for mankind.

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Jul 8, 2018

Jul 8, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC

Collateral Damage

Blue skies are now a vibrant shade of red, Unavoidable screaming can be heard, Thousands of souls who have suffered and bled, The survivors mutter words that are slurred. Lying awake reflecting on the past, “How could I have not saved my dear brother?” Inner demons fight me as if I asked. I remember those eyes like no other, A small bullet that travelled through his chest, My name was the last to be spoken. Tears escape my eyes for my big brother. Right through my heart I feel a gust of wind, Unrecognised now I am for mankind.

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I can feel the gentle, rhythmic breathing And the tepid touch of your skin Soon the sun will rise, And you must go to class But you will mutter an excuse Just to stay a minute more with me I can hear your soft snores, And muffled moans Soon we will succumb to summer, And it’s malicious motives, To bisect your beauty, From my greedy grasp I can smell the shampoo That I will never smell again For I will move, And you will move, A Dispossessed Connection Though our spring may have ceased Our wilted whispers will never wane Though my bed may be devoid I’ll remember where you had lain. I’ll remember our long laughs And your sweet smile, more stunning than the stars I’ll remember our wishful words And the times that were ours.

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May 26, 2016

May 26, 2016 at 4:20 AM UTC

I can feel the gentle, rhythmic breathing And the tepid touch of your skin Soon the sun will rise, And you must go to class But you will mutter an excuse Just to stay a minute more with me I can hear your soft snores, And muffled moans Soon we will succumb to summer, And it’s malicious motives, To bisect your beauty, From my greedy grasp I can smell the shampoo That I will never smell again For I will move, And you will move, A Dispossessed Connection Though our spring may have ceased Our wilted whispers will never wane Though my bed may be devoid I’ll remember where you had lain. I’ll remember our long laughs And your sweet smile, more stunning than the stars I’ll remember our wishful words And the times that were ours.

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Sitting here alone with people around But I only see one person in mind She is the person so fortunate I've found She is the person who loves me in kind. My head is spinning as I sit here thinking My heart is aching for the girl I'm missing My lips they mutter, words of love they're saying My hope is wishful that these words you're hearing. I feel this love in my heart, it's growing To proportions of unfathomable enormity Sometimes it feels like my boat is sinking When I think of the undeniable reality. This reality that I wake up to everyday Keeps hurling obstacles that I must face I need the strength so my hopes don't fray Wishing for more so I can finish this race. I love her dearly; without her a life I can't imagine I love her deeply; I never thought I was capable of such I love her strong; with hopes so high, I would pin I love her furiously; never thought I could love this much. She is the sun that around, my world does spin She is my star that I always look up to see She is my moon that so clearly I have seen She is my universe that I'm traipsing through helplessly. I've never stopped wishing for a life beside her I've never stopped wanting for her to be with me I've never stopped hoping for the a life we'd make together I will never stop trying for I believe it's meant to be. I have pined for her so, many a sleepless night I have yearned for her through the hours of the day I have craved for her; craved with all of my might I have longed to utter the words I've wanted to say. Countless of times, these words I've spouted In my heart I've said them oh so many more These words are strong like a volcano just erupted These words are true for they come from my core. So I sit here still with these people around They don't know why my heart aches so It matters not if my feet don't touch the ground I'd still dare to dream and to her they will go. Dreams of you I'll never stop conjuring Thoughts of you I'll never stop thinking With words so sweet I'll never stop praising For the woman in my dreams, my heart is loving. So let me be, you people; you never will know You'll never know who it is who excites my heart You'll never understand what makes my love grow She's the one who had ensnared me from the start.

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Sep 2, 2014

Sep 2, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC

Sitting here alone with people around But I only see one person in mind She is the person so fortunate I've found She is the person who loves me in kind. My head is spinning as I sit here thinking My heart is aching for the girl I'm missing My lips they mutter, words of love they're saying My hope is wishful that these words you're hearing. I feel this love in my heart, it's growing To proportions of unfathomable enormity Sometimes it feels like my boat is sinking When I think of the undeniable reality. This reality that I wake up to everyday Keeps hurling obstacles that I must face I need the strength so my hopes don't fray Wishing for more so I can finish this race. I love her dearly; without her a life I can't imagine I love her deeply; I never thought I was capable of such I love her strong; with hopes so high, I would pin I love her furiously; never thought I could love this much. She is the sun that around, my world does spin She is my star that I always look up to see She is my moon that so clearly I have seen She is my universe that I'm traipsing through helplessly. I've never stopped wishing for a life beside her I've never stopped wanting for her to be with me I've never stopped hoping for the a life we'd make together I will never stop trying for I believe it's meant to be. I have pined for her so, many a sleepless night I have yearned for her through the hours of the day I have craved for her; craved with all of my might I have longed to utter the words I've wanted to say. Countless of times, these words I've spouted In my heart I've said them oh so many more These words are strong like a volcano just erupted These words are true for they come from my core. So I sit here still with these people around They don't know why my heart aches so It matters not if my feet don't touch the ground I'd still dare to dream and to her they will go. Dreams of you I'll never stop conjuring Thoughts of you I'll never stop thinking With words so sweet I'll never stop praising For the woman in my dreams, my heart is loving. So let me be, you people; you never will know You'll never know who it is who excites my heart You'll never understand what makes my love grow She's the one who had ensnared me from the start.

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"Greedy girl," they whisper For two was not enough. I am not whole, with one more soul I need two to give my trust. Lovely trio of mine I couldn't wish for more Yet they call me a freak, "Love's for two, not three!" They mutter that I'm a ***** I'm not jealous or undecided I'm not cheating and it's not abuse Just because you've never doesn't mean three isn't better For one who is not confused. "Perhaps this is a phase," "No-one in their right mind would wish For three or for four, how about two, who needs more?" They all think just like this. But I am polyamorous My partners are in the plural And we love equally, it doesn't matter that we're three Our relationship breaks no ethic or moral. So judge as you will Judge as you please I am proud of my *** and sexualities And it's polyamory for me.

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Dec 14, 2013

Dec 14, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC

"Greedy girl," they whisper For two was not enough. I am not whole, with one more soul I need two to give my trust. Lovely trio of mine I couldn't wish for more Yet they call me a freak, "Love's for two, not three!" They mutter that I'm a ***** I'm not jealous or undecided I'm not cheating and it's not abuse Just because you've never doesn't mean three isn't better For one who is not confused. "Perhaps this is a phase," "No-one in their right mind would wish For three or for four, how about two, who needs more?" They all think just like this. But I am polyamorous My partners are in the plural And we love equally, it doesn't matter that we're three Our relationship breaks no ethic or moral. So judge as you will Judge as you please I am proud of my *** and sexualities And it's polyamory for me.

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hot wet grip squirm throb lick whisper gasp groan touch yes gooey sticky heat rushed seize **** hush drool coy moan grab push pull eat eye-roll tease yes swirl soft shiny squeeze tasty tongue fingers **** ***** ugh unf yes breath ******* pound lips hard angry bite slap choke spank stroke pant blow yes rub tan pale mumble please pink flutter mutter sigh gasp heart pause oh yes arms legs quiver plead whine feel beg body yes tense grunt **** smooth play two deep desperate *** fasterdeeper passion yes slow no yes sudden laugh bruise scratch oh yes shake kiss love yes smug yes come yes scream yes wow you yes close spit swallow peck pet soft sleep dream

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Apr 15, 2015

Apr 15, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC

hot wet grip squirm throb lick whisper gasp groan touch yes gooey sticky heat rushed seize **** hush drool coy moan grab push pull eat eye-roll tease yes swirl soft shiny squeeze tasty tongue fingers **** ***** ugh unf yes breath ******* pound lips hard angry bite slap choke spank stroke pant blow yes rub tan pale mumble please pink flutter mutter sigh gasp heart pause oh yes arms legs quiver plead whine feel beg body yes tense grunt **** smooth play two deep desperate *** fasterdeeper passion yes slow no yes sudden laugh bruise scratch oh yes shake kiss love yes smug yes come yes scream yes wow you yes close spit swallow peck pet soft sleep dream

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Lo! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly— Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama—oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

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4.3k

Edgar Allan Poe

The Conqueror Worm

Lo! ’tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly— Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama—oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, “Man,” And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

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when i was 4 i was ashamed of feminity when i was 5 i started comparing myself to other girls when i was 7 i weighed myself on a daily basis when i was 8 i thought that if i wasnt skinny i wasnt beautiful when i was 10 i learned the word **** when i was 12 i hurt myself because i didnt think i was good enough when i was 13 i wore a shirt that showed my shoulders in school. i was told i was asking for it when i was 14 i had to go to a psychologist because my self esteem was so low i wanted to die i still cant wear a skirt without someone commenting on its length i still cant speak my mind and have a man take me seriously i still cant mutter the word "feminism" without a boy looking at me like i'm **** i still look in the mirror and hate myself i still wonder if im asking for it i still worry about walking the streets alone and my brother never did i still get asked why i need feminism because being called a girl is an insult because men STILL think its all about men because im more worried about being ***** than how my grades are because no matter how smart i am, a boy is somehow better because girls still die everyday as feminism is disregarded because feminism is "a joke" because "why isnt it called equalism?" because i feel that we are worth it

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May 30, 2014

May 30, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC

why i need feminism

when i was 4 i was ashamed of feminity when i was 5 i started comparing myself to other girls when i was 7 i weighed myself on a daily basis when i was 8 i thought that if i wasnt skinny i wasnt beautiful when i was 10 i learned the word **** when i was 12 i hurt myself because i didnt think i was good enough when i was 13 i wore a shirt that showed my shoulders in school. i was told i was asking for it when i was 14 i had to go to a psychologist because my self esteem was so low i wanted to die i still cant wear a skirt without someone commenting on its length i still cant speak my mind and have a man take me seriously i still cant mutter the word "feminism" without a boy looking at me like i'm **** i still look in the mirror and hate myself i still wonder if im asking for it i still worry about walking the streets alone and my brother never did i still get asked why i need feminism because being called a girl is an insult because men STILL think its all about men because im more worried about being ***** than how my grades are because no matter how smart i am, a boy is somehow better because girls still die everyday as feminism is disregarded because feminism is "a joke" because "why isnt it called equalism?" because i feel that we are worth it

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keep my heart in a mason jar above your bed take it down and look at it from time to time then watch with a frown on the day the jar slips through your fingers and plummets to the hardwood with a crack & a shatter "sorry" you'll mutter with an almost interrogative inflection but you won't pick up the shards you'll stare blankly at the contents - my heart it's messy, not what you wanted stains from the girl with the mason jar heart will haunt the floorboards and echo in the walls and you'll wish you'd been more careful when you had her in your hands - m.f.

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Aug 3, 2013

Aug 3, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC

mason jar heart

keep my heart in a mason jar above your bed take it down and look at it from time to time then watch with a frown on the day the jar slips through your fingers and plummets to the hardwood with a crack & a shatter "sorry" you'll mutter with an almost interrogative inflection but you won't pick up the shards you'll stare blankly at the contents - my heart it's messy, not what you wanted stains from the girl with the mason jar heart will haunt the floorboards and echo in the walls and you'll wish you'd been more careful when you had her in your hands - m.f.

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I hate your ********* skepticism. You sit and look at me from across an Empty expanse of blood-red tablecloth that might as well be The divide between galaxies. I try to stay calm when you ask if "Alternative" pronouns are being used As a "social experiment" in GSA. I look away. My heart pounds. My face flushes. It is only for the sake of the young kids present That I do not mutter any obscenities. I take a deep breath. I tell you, slowly, carefully, that No it isn't an experiment. They have chosen to use plural pronouns They, them, theirs, Just as legitimate as the "normal" ones, male and female. Why should anyone's name be tied to What they were born with between their legs? You answer back in a long drawl that is so full I skepticism I could choke on it's ignorance. "Okay then." Two words, two words that make me rethink everything I think about you, my father. I was filled with hope when I listened to Tales of love and life, Freedom to marry who you want. You support gay rights, Dad, But I'm left wondering: Do you support all my friends? The pansexual and gender-fluid and bisexual and homosexual and demi-sexual and those who chose other pronouns? What about the transsexuals and asexuals and third-gendered and pan-romantic and sapiosexual and queer? I turn away before I reveal my hurt to you I will not open up this can of worms again, I'm sure. I thought I knew you. Now I only know how much more I Respect Compared to you.

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May 21, 2014

May 21, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC

I hate your ********* skepticism. You sit and look at me from across an Empty expanse of blood-red tablecloth that might as well be The divide between galaxies. I try to stay calm when you ask if "Alternative" pronouns are being used As a "social experiment" in GSA. I look away. My heart pounds. My face flushes. It is only for the sake of the young kids present That I do not mutter any obscenities. I take a deep breath. I tell you, slowly, carefully, that No it isn't an experiment. They have chosen to use plural pronouns They, them, theirs, Just as legitimate as the "normal" ones, male and female. Why should anyone's name be tied to What they were born with between their legs? You answer back in a long drawl that is so full I skepticism I could choke on it's ignorance. "Okay then." Two words, two words that make me rethink everything I think about you, my father. I was filled with hope when I listened to Tales of love and life, Freedom to marry who you want. You support gay rights, Dad, But I'm left wondering: Do you support all my friends? The pansexual and gender-fluid and bisexual and homosexual and demi-sexual and those who chose other pronouns? What about the transsexuals and asexuals and third-gendered and pan-romantic and sapiosexual and queer? I turn away before I reveal my hurt to you I will not open up this can of worms again, I'm sure. I thought I knew you. Now I only know how much more I Respect Compared to you.

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A old gentleman in a bar was sitting next to a very beat up man this tattered man He wore no shoes He smelled He was soaking wet and looked very pale. The old gentleman bought the man a beer and ask him what his story was the man told him that he was once a successful buissness owner a man of high class and standard. He wore the finest clothes, wore the most beautufl jewelry, and went on amazing journeys. The old gentleman began to laugh he sipped his drink looked over the man and asked him what happened the man told him that he was driving out in the country comming home from a buissness meeting He said he had been drinking and reached for his scotch when he looked up his car swirved in the lake water seaped in He said " water came rushing in so fast" the old gentleman looked down at his beer looked up and the man was nowhere to be seen he asked the bar keep if he saw where the man went the bar keep insisted that the old gentleman was crazy that he saw the old gentleman talking to himself... suddenly The old Gentleman heard a voice over the television " Good evening we have breaking news it appears that Lyon Lemon Owner of Inka Industries has gone missing. Police have recovered his viechle but with no trace of Lyon inside it. They've issued scuba divers to search for the Lyons body. We will keep you posted on this story. The old gentleman suddenly felt quezzy and uneasy. His lips dried, his skin went clammy, and his hair stood on the back of his neck. He knew he had seen Lyon not moments ago in the bar. The old gentle dropped a handfull of silver and paper on the counter and rushed out. Javier Timble once a Master Con Artist and a Cheat was now the one being fooled and tricked with. He knew the game that was being played on him and he was to have no part of being set up for a ****** Timble was shakened but was far from scared. As he walked out the bar he noticed wet footprints. But they were forming as if someone was walking. Timble again felt the rush of adrenline come into his heart he began to mutter to himself and wonder what kind of trick this was. Javier stepped slowly towards the footprints and noticed that there was letters forming on the wall to the right of him. slowly the words formed out to say "InKa"

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Oct 24, 2012

Oct 24, 2012 at 2:04 AM UTC

not finished but a start

A old gentleman in a bar was sitting next to a very beat up man this tattered man He wore no shoes He smelled He was soaking wet and looked very pale. The old gentleman bought the man a beer and ask him what his story was the man told him that he was once a successful buissness owner a man of high class and standard. He wore the finest clothes, wore the most beautufl jewelry, and went on amazing journeys. The old gentleman began to laugh he sipped his drink looked over the man and asked him what happened the man told him that he was driving out in the country comming home from a buissness meeting He said he had been drinking and reached for his scotch when he looked up his car swirved in the lake water seaped in He said " water came rushing in so fast" the old gentleman looked down at his beer looked up and the man was nowhere to be seen he asked the bar keep if he saw where the man went the bar keep insisted that the old gentleman was crazy that he saw the old gentleman talking to himself... suddenly The old Gentleman heard a voice over the television " Good evening we have breaking news it appears that Lyon Lemon Owner of Inka Industries has gone missing. Police have recovered his viechle but with no trace of Lyon inside it. They've issued scuba divers to search for the Lyons body. We will keep you posted on this story. The old gentleman suddenly felt quezzy and uneasy. His lips dried, his skin went clammy, and his hair stood on the back of his neck. He knew he had seen Lyon not moments ago in the bar. The old gentle dropped a handfull of silver and paper on the counter and rushed out. Javier Timble once a Master Con Artist and a Cheat was now the one being fooled and tricked with. He knew the game that was being played on him and he was to have no part of being set up for a ****** Timble was shakened but was far from scared. As he walked out the bar he noticed wet footprints. But they were forming as if someone was walking. Timble again felt the rush of adrenline come into his heart he began to mutter to himself and wonder what kind of trick this was. Javier stepped slowly towards the footprints and noticed that there was letters forming on the wall to the right of him. slowly the words formed out to say "InKa"

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