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PrttyBrd Jul 2014
Lavender rainbows in teal green skies
Where all clouds are lined silver
Glittered lakes in powder pink
Feed pastel unicorns with pearlesque horns
Twisted in iridescent beauty
In a land of pretty pegasi
Dreams become reality become dreams
7-7-14
For Aliah and her love of all things unicorny
I miss your *****
Almost as much as i miss your *******
I want you more than i can comprehend
These perverted thoughts i dont even pretend
Theyre not all i think about all day
Also i can honestly say
I ******* to her
At a massive rate
It blows my mind
How one of a kind
This georgious ******* girl is
Please oh please will ya be my miss
I swear ill be better to you
Than anybody ever you never knew
If you swear down youll be mine
Ill bring you flowers on valentines
Black roses that remind us of death and ****
Ill make sure you are aways well lit
High as a kite you know what i mean?
And dispite of how crazy it seems,
When i do finally greet death,
Hopfully overdosed on some neat ****,
I will be embraced by satan himself,
BUT WHAT NO! WHATS THAT BEHIND THE SHELF?!
Out flys a glorious Anni
Chariot pulled by badass pegasi
She pulls out her mighty scabard
Slices and dices the decaying *******
wait wait went off track a bit
That last part...didnt quite fit
But im just obsessing
Seriously not messing
I want you so bad
It makes me so mad
I want you and all of you
Im not queit sure what to do
From there
But i dont care.
My one and only demand
I just want to hold your hand
Chantelle Hansen Sep 2012
A certain innocence fled my soul when you entered it,
Only a few can say what kind.
Little did I know the night you tied me up, it would bound me for life.
The light in your eye flickers unsteadily,
Along with your kindness and chivalry.
If life gave me a clock to do with the hands what I please,
I couldn’t be certain which way I would go.
Questions rise to the surface, breaking the still seas.
And you’re standing on the edge, looking down at someplace you don’t want to be.
With each distant moment,
Each unspoken word;
You get one step closer.
I stood here beside you on this journey.
From the frigid, bleak valleys,
To the sun kissed peaks.
We sailed through red skies on the backs of Pegasi,
Fought demons with double edged blades;
Seemingly to only hurt ourselves...
So I’ll put on a velvet dress and put on a smile,
And you take your pen and your paper and wrong our rights.
But, like an ink stain on velvet, I will never be the same.
But in the end, really, who’s to blame?
Quinn Jan 2014
I dream of a time when I was small
A time where my memories no longer reach
When Memerre was still here
And Jean too
When the weight  of the world was light
And snow fell livid in my soul
I dream of the hazy beach sun and those road trips to Kitty hawk
I dream of the colourful array of pegasi
I dream of spring
A time where Rolo ran beside me in the thick grass
I dream of the house on hollywood with it's two stories and pealing paint
There are flickers in my dreams of Matt who was strong and of the Jeep that kept mommy safe
I dream of a time where I didn't know the meaning of the curses that flew in that house
And a time when they weren't directed at me
And I miss it

I miss it all
I miss not knowing which bottle was filled with beer or understanding why mommy acted funny
I miss not knowing what a **** was or how to make one
I miss when Grandad was around
I miss when Caroline was my baby sitter
I miss Cindy and that pool she took us to
I miss my childhood and I hate that it was taken from me

I hate that the curtain was lifted
I hate that I didn't do anything
I hate what happened to me
I hate what happened to us
I hate what I've become
Joel M Frye Sep 2016
She does not ask for much;
a piece of paper,
a few markers,
time, and a mind at peace.
Her patience is maddening.
Dot by dot,
fantasies form,
sprung from her forehead
fully grown and armed
with the colors she imagines.
Her gray eyes clouded
with concentration,
for every jab of her hand
must strike true,
a felt-tip Seurat.
Her life a study in pointillism, too;
each day filling in
an outline, dark and light
commingled, colored by
those who come and go,
the users and losers,
the bruisers and the healers.
Self-portraits abound;
the smiling face and glowing eyes
she will show the world
painted over the pain
she has known
from loss of blood
and faithless friends.

A word to the wise:
Though her unicorns and pegasi
are strikingly beautiful,

her demons can be quite real.
Bri Nov 2014
Agnes:
Wine, for the Greeks, brought more than
burgundy to the screen, instead
illuminant pinks and purples and yellows
swirl and wirl and twirl in orchestrated
dances of Spring.

Cherubim soar, teasingly mocking these gods,
drunk with passion and their grape wine while
pegasi rest, swoop and land like swans to a water’s surface.
Joy and ***** happiness, lovely and sound,
they prance.

In a swirl, in a wirl and in a twirl,
you bring me back to my favorite scene,
when Fantasia was my insight on art
when my mother would sit and watch with me,
instead of busying herself with others.

I had not thought of that in years,
I had not remembered the jolt to my system,
to the system of a little girl, who, often alone
had to create her own art, often had to
imagine her own melodies.

Agnes, you’ve brought the next jolt,
I’m once again flying with the black Pegasus, swooping back
to the dark living room, followed by a stampede of centaurs
cherubim lulling me to sleep,
swirling and wirling and twirling my own colors,
carrying me back to her music.
based on the painting "First Spring Garland"
Jackson Freeman Oct 2020
I expected a chariot,
was trained to hold reins,
feed horses,
and know when to whip them.
Hours I spent shuffling across sheer faces
to teach me the balance necessary.
I took notes from oaks on how to keep my feet firmly planted,
legs bending, never breaking.
I suffered the hurricane
to learn to not blink with wind in my face.
I humored Time, to learn from its spinning wheel
so that I might know my own.
I turned to the trust of beasts
thinking they might one day guide me.
I glared at charioteers,
My coliseum competition.
I sat, eyes closed, by the ocean
To acquaint me with a roar
I would expect from an audience.
I stripped myself bare
So that I may learn the choices of judges.
I was prepared for a chariot.

But what arrived was a ratty coup of unknown make;
a wheezing, rusted contraption with wobbling wheels,
a cracked, insect-stained windscreen,
valves of leaky ichor,
a missing cigarette lighter,
a lockless glove box,
a tailpipe that belched black omen,
windows that rolled by hand and got stuck,
seats of the kind of leather your skin sticks to in the summer and froze in winter,
and an AM/FM radio filled with static.
No spare tire.

I was livid.


This vehicle was to carry me to my onward days,
to the paradise of my imagination?
I was to collude with my romantics in the passenger seat
of this rolling mausoleum?
To commute to my place of wage
and not have my vessel reflect my value?
To pass my days of leisure
knowing a bunker of my perturbation watched from the driveway?

I tried to hew a chariot of my own,
but first the wood of the trees of my garden proved too weak.
Then my crooked wheels seemed to want to separate away from each other.
And the only beasts to pull it were dogs,
made fat from the gristle of my meals that I threw them
in my days of anticipation.
I conceded to the coup.

Misery so often my chauffeur,
I plotted and plodded along with the wheels I was given,
Diverting my eyes from Apollos in the sky,
Pulled by glistening pegasi.

A friend,
also couped up,
Told me to make the most of it.
So I’ve been trying.

I tried to take its namelessness as something to which I might give a name.
As it wheezed I heard it breathing, liable to collapse, but
Alive
nonetheless.
The warped wheels wove their own way,
and I imagined the invisible burden of unseen beasts
with greater senses of direction than mine.
I saw the insects in front of me as company.
As the pipes oozed, I conjured hopes that they were like a gallbladder,
concentrating bile then removing it.
I sensed that the missing lighter meant I shouldn’t be smoking.
The glove box lacked a latch for ease of access,
and I read from the messages scrawled in smoke in my rear-view mirror.
The effort made to breathe through the manual windows
made me appreciate the breaths I took.
The broken sound system taught me to make my own music.
And the lack of a spare tire taught me to drive very, very carefully;
There would be no second chances.

The coup is a symptom of my broken hopes for my future’s reality.
But,
unlike the chariot,
it is real,
and its state of breaking can
Hopefully
be fixed.
I can sit when I wish to be seated.
I can bring others with me wherever.
The direction is dictated by me and not the whims of beasts.
The AC stutters, but it’s there.
There’s a trunk where I can put my memories.
And,
also unlike the chariot,
I can go very, very fast
if I want to.
a piece on life expectations
AJ Oct 2015
I drink the fire, let its
Freezing burn slide down
My throat, feel it sting
My open wounds and
Cloud the pathways to
My heart, feel its ineffable
Rage sizzle against the
Backdrop of unsaid woes and
Unwarranted apologies.

I drink the fire
To sacrifice my maddening
Remembrances, to
Focus on the pain in
My throat instead of the
Smoldering in my chest,
To sterilize the *****
Palms of God that can't
Pacify the raging tides
Above my cheeks, to
Cauterize the raw
Wounds that bleed tears
Onto the blackened
Soil of uncertainty.

I drink the fire
To feel sensation, to
Feel something other
Than the colossal
Void, to feel something
Other than the dull
Pangs of your broken
Words, to feel something
That washes away the
Fragile memories I keep, to
Feel the flames ***** at
My skin and blow black
Smoke out of my eyes,
To feel something other
Than the reluctance of
Dragging weeping Pegasi
Across the ground like
Caged birds begging
To be freed.

I drink the fire,
Hoping that you'll
Remember me while
I forget you, hoping
That you'll touch my
Scalded face and
Bleeding lips,
Hoping that you'll
Twist your hands in a
Knot to restrain your
Uneasy urges,
Hoping that you'll
Remember my countenance
As I turn to dusty ash
That twirls like a
Tornado barreling into
The darkened past.

I drink the fire
To forget why I
Fell so hard, sip it
To forget why I
Tumbled like a fool
Over your shattered
Promises, gulp it
To forget that you're
Forever stuck in my
Heaving breath,
Down it to forget
The unbearable fact
That I still love you,
And that I adore
The pain even more.

— The End —