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'Tell me I'm not in a dream. Or one of my trances.' She uttered the two sentences between gasps and seem-to-be quickening pulses. In midair, the tension between them kept growing intensely, trying desperately to meet its peak every second, before finally disappearing into the sightless distance above it. 'You're not,' the man said, his voice distant even when his face was only a few inches from hers, and cupped his free hands around her chin to calm her pale face. Her cheeks were warm in his palms, as if being burnt by hundreds of heaps of dying, yet ravenous flames. She closed her eyes, recording the touch of his perfect skin that seemed able to charm her endlessly since the first time she had fixed her gaze on his shimmering features. The angelic voice which accompanied it woke her a few seconds later. 'And even if you are,' he traced his soothing fingers along the reddening skin of her cheeks, 'I'll bring you back to life. Which is here.' He emphasised the last two words with a smile, a heartbreaking, infuriating smile - because of its astounding beauty, before tenderly touching his cherrylike lips to hers, making her start to tremble uncontrollably in deep confusion. She was, again, in the middle of these steep rocks without any aid to support her unstable weight, meanwhile the air over their heads began to twirl in circles, the weather around them getting pink and turning red in five seconds' time. She was lost. In someone else's magical world, with a rendition of one of The Beatles' hit singles from the 1900s or 1950s - she could not exactly recall which period of years it came from - playing smoothly in the CD player in the languid atmosphere of the living room behind them.
After a moment of enjoyment the kiss brought them he pulled back, before slamming his left hand into the tiny depth of his shirt pocket and taking a silver locket out of it. He threw a confident smile at her, and in one blink of his eye, the room fell dark. Petrified yet washed out by the sudden darkness among them, the girl let out a heart-rending shriek, which was followed by her heaving her body onto him, making his head hit the floorboards and the long necklace break in half. In seconds, blood-red light began to shuffle out of the center of the torn necklace, mingling with the air outside its shell and sending the woman into gradually-coming unconsciousness. She could now only see shadows, muttering and brimming all over the weather around her, and had not the strength to stand up apart from lying helplessly on the feathered carpet beneath. Before her, she saw how he started to rise and reveal his claws, and fangs, and bright red eyes above her. He laughed mercilessly. Instantly, she covered her sweating face with her hands - which now felt too shaky and she hated it, she loathed it very much - and brought out a despondent, lamented sound of cry. Her evil lover, at the same time, continued to soak up as much energy as possible from the change of circumstance.
'Again, I successfully, harmlessly tricked you,' he whispered this to her right ear. Around them, the horrendous wind potter faster and faster meanwhile their invincibly powered circles got bigger. 'You should thank me for that.'
'Th... Thank you for what?' She abruptly gathered her courage to confront him. If this meant that the end of my life was approaching, I would be ready, she thought silently.
'For letting me bound my ways into your life again, Em,' his angelic voice replied, and before she realised what was coming next, she wailed with all of her might when she laid her eyes on his real monstrous, vampiric face before her.
'I am indeed sorry to say that you - a clever and sanguine girl like you - was granted the chance to relish your life only momentarily,' he cleared his throat. 'You have always known that you could not outrun us at the end..., and so have your family.'
'No,' she mumbled, and drifted her gaze to his face - his now burning face. 'NO!'
'No,' he mockingly repeated her words, 'or YES, my dear?'
'Don't call me using that 'D' word, beast,' she put her best effort to yell at the top of her lungs, ''cos I am not your dear, and prefer death to becoming one of you!'
With those last few words, she scrambled to her feet, and stood up in just two swift movements. In her both hands, which he did not know were protected by the two stashes of garlic and one wooden cross in her dress pockets, were two shiny swords with special blades carved onto their two edges which were designated to **** vampires. Get rid of them. And their malicious world of beasts.
She stepped forward, and new powers began to regenerate inside her - despite the cries she felt start to roll into her heart, upon knowing that her beloved Joe had died. Joe had been deceased now. He was lifeless, and no longer able to help her here. She should never have ditched him. It dawned on her now, when everything was already too late to fix up. But she knew that she should never give up. Javier and his vampire family might have tasted every single drop of her other family members - and the rest of Ludirus town's residents - including her Joe, before she idiotically kicked him out for this pathetic, heartless beast who wore a disguise to displace him. She stretch the first sword - the one in her right hand - out to him. He took a step back, his eyes remained focused on her.
'You won't hurt me,' he pretended to be in pain, and in one and a half seconds, he transformed into the figure of the innocuous, blue-eyed prince once more.
'I won't be deceived by your looks, pig,' spat her, meanwhile her brain rummaged through a thousand ways to stick the two swords into his chest. That was, in fact, the only way to **** him. To drain his evil life out of him.
'You were, once,' he laughed, the sound of his devious laughter echoed in the very room, and later left it in such dread and wariness.
'Not anymore,' she bravely took a step forward and, without any further doubt, without caring about her being imprisoned for the rest of her life before getting her blood dried by the fangs of Javier's two older brothers, she stabbed the swords into his chest with all the energy she had left. And the effects sprayed out by the action were beyond any of her expectations. Thousands of blood droplets poured out of his body and onto the floor beneath her, flooding the entire living room and finally the streets outside the building until no litter, little scraps of food, and wheels of vehicles were seen anywhere in sight. Surprisingly, these endless streams of blood did not cause any floods, and rapidly soaked through every single layer of soil the earth had on its surface. The blood that had been consumed out of the poor people of Ludirus, the rural village in South Ireland, famous for its cruel killing rampage for several thousand years, where a group of aristocratic vampire ruled the lives of humans and their own species. But now, there would be no more of them. No more of their horrible treatments. No more of their sneaking-up-on-humans tricks they secretly did at night - to savour human blood, which was lawfully removed from the protecting-human law renewed every year. It was all a lie. Yeah, a lie. A lie that allowed Javier's family to approach Lucinda's family members to be victims in their lifelong killing spree. But now, there would be no more vampires, thought Lucinda as she kissed her holy cross and sets of garlic affectionately. There would be no more blood sacrificed to fend for those beasts' hunger, even though it meant for her to live alone. Live on her own, as she no longer had anyone around her to turn to. To soak up her tears when she was scared away by the bunch of vampire kids on the way home from school. To calm her with her melodious chords at the piano. Mother. To serve her the best spaghetti in the world as a reward for her outstanding grades at school. Sister Sheila. To rub her back and put her to bed at night - at the age of sixteen! Father. Luce's tears just would not stop while she kept counting her memories, as every single shadows of her deceased beloved came back to her. And finally, the sight of her Joe lying his tired head on her lap, and reading out loud to her his newest poem he composed at the office for her. All were gone. Dissolved into the ravenous sea of blood in the guts of those psychotic, simpering, abusive monsters.
But she was satisfied. She felt, somehow, proud of her heroic, or at least, brave actions. She had taken control of her fear, and that was one of the most important characteristics a woman should have to succeed in this cruel world, her father had once said. Now she could prove to them all that she was a newly reborn person, and was no longer the old Lucinda. Lucinda Hale who had always been the 'tail' of her sister while they were six and four, and the little, spoilt daughter of Jim and Aileen Hale who could not hold a plate properly in every banquet their family was invited to. Luce knew that she was now completely a stranger to her family. She squinted her eyes shut, trying to imagine how nice it would be to show off her new self to her late family if only they were all alive with healthy pink cheeks now. In her own peace and this momentary solitude, she found herself sinking onto the floating warmth of blood, but strangely, she did not fall. She did not plunge into the limitless red colour underneath, and remained flowing above it while her tears started to crawl out of her eyes. She did not know, and did not want to know how long this remained until she eventually felt the rough surface of the bearskin carpet again. She woke up with a dizzy head and quickly threw a hasty look around her living room. The prince, beastly Javier had vanished. Oh, there are his remnants, she thought and unconsciously, chuckled quietly to herself when she came to take hold of several white, lifeless bones laid in front of her. Then suddenly she understood what had just happened. The legend in that book she had borrowed from the library transported the knowledge back into her mind. All the members of Javier's family had been crushed now. They were dead. Her sacred tears, which came to mix with the blood flood, became the cure for all the people who had been ****** by the vicious vampires in town. They were now freed, and reawarded, although still mortal, but yet a very rare, elusive, privileged chance to be alive once again and start their lives all over again. They must not be far from her now, thought her. Without any further wait, she raced out of the room, and wormed her way onto the street.
And here they were. The streets of Ludirus were no longer deserted. Traditional markets with a thousand-metre long series of antiques roamed them, occupying every single tiny space provided to place racks containing jewels, valuables, and gold pots. There were also shelves of books about cookery, traditional healing potions, sports, literature, and anything else someone ever wanted to buy. And then she spotted a book with a bright yellow cover, entitled 'Love Poems: From 1900 to the Present, by Joe Grogan.' Her breath seemed to stop at that time and suddenly, before she even got the opportunity to touch the cover of the copy in front of her, two warm arms wrapped her waists and turned her body around to face the owner. Once again, she was at a terrible loss for words. 'Joe,' she mumbled.
'I am,' the writer nodded solemnly. And just like the evil Prince Javier had done before, he pulled out a beautiful silver box and opened it. Inside, two rings shined beautifully before their eyes, radiating a smile as bright as the one seen on others' faces among them. A smile that celebrated the comeback of their long-lost independence. Before she knew it, Joe knelt before her, and presented the ring upwards onto her.
'What would you like to do first, Madam? Marry me, or buy my book?' He grinned and held both her hands. Before she could answer him, he inserted her left ring finger into the perfectly made ring, and helped her right hand fasten his own ring onto his finger. She lifted him up and wrapped her hands around his neck.
'Do you have time for both, Sir?' She rubbed his smooth cheeks and kiss them before looking deeply into his hazel eyes.
'Absolutely,' he answered firmly, and scooped her whole weight into his arms and spinned her around. Luce could no longer say anything when a sudden wave of happiness washed all over her, and became even at a more unfathomable loss of words when she caught the sight of her beloved father, mother, and her sister, all alive, start approaching to deliver their congratulations. Here we are, she thought with a satisfied feeling. We were, are, and will always be meant to be together.
martin Jul 2012
I met a priest from Guyana
Who's fond of his marijuana
He says even the Pope
Stashes some dope
He calls it a gift from the Father
Send in the Spanish inquisition, I care not.  I'll bombard 'em with limericks!
Marigolds Fever Sep 2018
Marigold’s fever
Heavy heart griever
Saunters in the warm breeze
With an airy sundress tease
Soft and sturdy grassy patches
Where she matches
Rows of orange and yellow stashes
Named for the steady flower
With its strong stem tower
That humid air
Quite the flare for the flowers and her hair
She sits with her mind debates
Love and flowers she waits
Even on cloudy days
Without a phase
She sits there everyday
Pondering thoughts of flower devotion from mankind
Perhaps she has given up hope
There she is not known to be a good find
Her quiet place of solitude
Has left her not to be pursued
A day has come that’s too steamy
Left her not to be able to be dreamy
Quite the wind
Has taken her pink hat for a spin
She runs to retrieve as it flips
There she falls and trips
She hears a voice
That sounds like her choice
She looks up
Sees a man holding a pup
What has caught her eye that’s much too bright
She holds her hand up high in fright
There his hand meets hers
with marigolds held in golden light
At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load

The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?!
WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN
THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY.
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty

When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.
Lily Mayfield May 2012
Scatter my ashes
You can't keep them here
I know you've got me in stashes
Just let go my dear

Keep our memories
Say good-bye to my body
Please be at ease
Say good-bye to my body

I'll save you a place
Up here in heaven
I'm surrounded by grace
Up here in heaven

No need to worry
I found my way home
Clear your eyes so blurry
There's no need to roam

Scatter my ashes
You can't keep them here
I know you've got me in stashes
Just let go my dear
Written on May 4, 2012
Andrew Rueter Dec 2017
The cursed clouds decide to stay
Through this blacked out phase
So I proceed to play
During darkened days

Swirling black
In a sky of flak
The courage I lack
To counterattack

Bombs explode
Smoke blocks the sun
Now that I know
Dying can be fun
To the finish line I run
After I feel I am done

The sky gets darker
By permanent markers
The sun hides
The dude abides

I am under a curse
Of things getting worse
I look for a nurse
Out the back of my hearse

Love can be found
And unwound
No one is bound
So they leave town

The days used to be bright
Until I found reasons to fight
And the grass died
When my *** lied

I can't retrieve the light
When I am blinded
I'm unable to use sight
So I cannot find it

Darkened days
Block the sun's rays
I can't see through the haze
Of these darkened days

Time passes
Like lightning flashes
And depleting drug stashes
Impeding love's crashes
When I'm burnt to ashes

I don't know if I'm romantic
Or in an existential crisis
But as I become tantric
I feel I must fight this
So I wield a sword
Of tears that poured
For those I adored
Until they brought darkness
Despite my praise
When they act heartless
I live darkened days
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Olivia Kent Dec 2014
Somewhere out there.
Spiders build non ending webs.
Funnels and tunnels, no trains passing through.

They scuttle as they dash through the hearth.
Where the fires of the hearts of queens once burned.
Madame summons's her lady in waiting.
To sweep away the creature she's hating.

Her ladyship is really posh.
She's eaten many you know.
Tells the world they're scrumptious nosh.

The ladies maid, collects her captured trophies in a trinket box.
Stashes them in the drawer.
The one where milady keeps her socks and hoes.
Even the hankies to wipe her regal nose.

But, once in the bluest of moons,
She melts some chocolate on a spoon.
Into the runny chocolate, the leggy hairy creatures get dunked.

Those spiders dipped in chocolate,they're  tasting really great.
A little bit of protein to satisfy the queen.
Her delicacy.
Apparently!
(C) LIVVI
Doug Dombrowik Dec 2011
How one does reach the beginnings end
when the heart is hampered by woe.
The outcome hung eager to impend,
and there was nothing left to stow.

It was many and many a week ago,
In this room I first did see.
Where beauty she first did show,
What I wanted to be.

The elegance of her movements, and the gentle look in her eye.
For me an instant connection, for her a single lie.
There would be somber nights alone, when I would briefly catch a thought
On this mysterious beauty, who shall forever entice her spot.

There was that single night, with horror and connection,
where our lips first did meet, and I felt affection.
It was a moment of passion, and utter bliss.
There was nothing to hold me from such a pure kiss.

Forthcoming days passed as years as we grew together.
A brief sense of inseparability that could have lasted forever.
I was a fool to let her in so fast,
As I knew that I must take care of my past.

The cards themselves, did see what was true,
All along I knew what I must do.
It was a decision I had thought through,
and it was the hardest thing I have done.

I will miss that smile, that look in your eye,
The way we touched, the eternal seeming high,
The best opportunity that has ever slipped by,
Because you deserve better than me.

Back rubs and kisses, dancing partners, and bones,
All bare sharp reminders of the saddening tones.
Broken beds and The Crazies, Elm Street and dance,
All the things that I have lost my chance.

Named cars and bathroom signs, Anime and creaky stairs.
I will have to shrug off because nobody cares.
Secret chocolate stashes and cuddling, Buffy and Intertwined legs.
To get these back one silently begs.


Cha Cha and Waltz, Salsa and Swing,
Us together these shall no longer bring.
First true moments of pleasure and a relieved sigh
All the things of which I must say goodbye

So then came the night where I would make things right.
To tell the truth and stay for the fight.
I hoped with the truth, we could move on and stay,
But all she wanted was to push me away.

Apathetic she said, never truly cared,
Foolish that my heart even dared.
She stared at me blankly, eyes of ice,
and froze away all my entice.

Don't talk to me now, I need some space,
Cheaters are not allowed to finish the race.
As you walked out, I hoped for an ending hug,
I got an apathetic no and an ample shrug.

I know I have no one to blame but me,
And now I am stuck wondering about all that could be.
These eight days, no other way I would spend,
and it hurts to see our dance come to an end.
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, my heart aches for the wounds:\


is it when a matter is in the faults???

the puts of the words and the spits of the secrets

moon I swore the hells to I would never say loud

it's like the repressed in her

in her stashes

her hidden ashes dancing in the rests

fearing of the miss

of the outs of the mists

too much of bliss or not

deprivation an official ****

when my chest aches

blessed with the silence

cursed with those disgusting chaos of a waste

transforms to the addicting

an incredulous taste

menaced to me on her fazes she spills

psychotic on the egos what is this???

drown me in an ocean of misery

won't matter as much of the mockery


                                                       ­                       ------ravenfeels
Annie Jun 2013
underwater caves
limited oxygen tanks
and headlights tied around my head
you told me to go home
how the **** do you expect me to go home
when my blood has liquified into
40 proof, nose bleeding
from the white angels sent
from above
and vision double
wide like the target you
seem to of set

come back to ohio
come back to arizona
2000 miles in-between
baby i'd love to, but my mom
is passed out drunk on the kitchen floor
and i haven't seen daddy in a month
i heard he was dating some woman
in West Virginia
I heard that he was happy
without us

10 years ago i broke her cigarettes
hid them above the refrigerator
"mommy you'll die"
"mommy smoking isn't good for you"
she quit that april
and hasn't looked back since
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
or so they say
i'm knee high in cigarette ash
and beer bottles
and i'm looking so far back
i'm like a reverse version of myself

and you wonder why i don't let people in
and you wonder why I'm so hurt by
you befriending that boy who
I embraced 100%
it's because he saw what i had to offer
and turned the other cheek
he ****** me on the laundry room
floor and then the next day
threw me down the hamper
it's like i belonged with the filth

i kissed a boy i had just met that night
and he had large bass player hands
and his fingers wrapped around my jaw bone
i was being consumed
and he told me i was special
and i did not believe him
but i still pretend that
that night met something to me
but it's already fading
i just want to believe him
but he meant nothing
to me

there are two houses now
separate lives
i haven't seen daddy in a month
and mom stashes alcohol in the cabinet
above the sink
it's 4 am and she still is not home
she's probably ******* some guy
or passed out in the street
and daddy is no where to be seen
they said they hadn't loved each other
for 10 years
10 years ago she quite smoking
I can't help but think she quit
her marriage that year too

i haven't hugged them since I was 7
and the therapist says that is why
I hate being touched
or hugged
or any physical contact
it burns my skin and makes me cringe
why didn't they hug me
why couldn't they of  just loved each other
it's never that simple
but it really should be
Here it comes, and it comes like a flood
The day we wash, we've washed with blood

It's covered in red, crimson, and scarlet
It's when I'm a *****, a *******, a harlot

Here it passes, coming ashes to ashes
Chocolates fill up our stashes and stashes

We give them in eros, love, and romance
Then we strut, sway, and dance

Around the questions and inquiries
Of will they be? Won't they be?

In the end it equals zero and naught
Leaves us in pain, disdain, distraught

One day we'll recover, unite, and heal
When the pain isn't hidden and concealed

Come down, calm down, and finally descend
Your high horse is at its exit, its death, its end
check out those synonyms doe
Cristin H Sep 2013
I remember it being cold that night.

It was the first time I had walked away
and worried I was leaving something.

It wasn't the kind of cold that
cut
and made itself at home in your bones.

It wasn't even the kind of cold
That strained every breath to feel like your last.

But I could feel the wind biting at and hanging from my ears
while it whispered.

But my mind was moving too fast to make memories,
It seems to never have the time anymore.
But it saves pictures
like polaroids.

Fast flashes of things passed
like whiplashes and mass stashes
of three picture days
of everything
and you.

Flash:
Legs around mine, light jeans, fluorescent lighting.
My heartbeat heats at the thought of it.
My back feels numb.

Flash:
Your smile in my headband, *******'re beautiful.
I think you threw your head back and laughed.
My arm tingles where you touched it.

Flash:
The sky was slate. Your eyes were asking me their first question.
I wished I had chalk.
But you already knew the answer.

I try to tell you now what you already were then,
But there aren't enough words in the world to tell you.

To tell you that your eyes looked like lifesavers.

To tell you that if I could,
I would develop my dreams at the nearest hour
drop shop and lay each frame out
like a quilt
and a collage.

(Because my mind is full
of a kind of mess that is never less
than warming.)

I would tell you that I hold your words under my tongue
To make sure they're always delivered warm.

And that if I leave them in there long enough
the fire starts.
My words melt into mercury
like ice in boiling water.

And I tell myself,
That if anyone really knew the heat,
They would stay the hell out of the kitchen.

But I made you something.
OnlyEggy Feb 2011
Can you feel the rumble?
Gathering force in the close distance?
Feel the power of uneasiness coursing,
pulsing
rushing through the very bones of the humble.
Minding the madness in the foreboding future,
do you fear the coming rain?
insane
In vain, in vein is where the worry does bumble.
Or do you stare in wonder of the flashing awe?
Where lightning strikes across the face of clouded,
shrouded
clouted minds of awe-struck and stumble.
These are forces of the fearful foes
striking iron with lighting flashes,
clashes
stashes of memories induced by the low grumble.
But I, For I, Because I am brave and I am strong
I do not fear the thunder but long for its embracing,
retracing,
re-placing my woes and all of my troubles
with brave courage and a strong spirit
and imbuing its strength into my Heart
Mind
Soul
And with a flex of my muscle, let the rumble
Roar across the land, across the sands,
Mountains and valleys, oceans and lakes,
Let my fury strike with the speed of light
and let my courage rain into your soul.
For I, I am the coming storm.
(AIP)
berniiie Jul 2015
For every emotion songs have already been written:
poetries and sonnets,
angry beats and ****** ballads.
My more positive, happier self is an extra-terrestrial being
from galaxies far away:
No cutting off fins from sharks. Unlike lizards’ tails
fins don’t grow back.
Love. Respect.
No ceramic idols lining the windows
their empty gazes crawling up your spine.
No empty promises. No magic cures for baldness.
Phones on mute during class. Eat sensibly.
Take a breather – life is not a race
to the finish line. Have cleaner washrooms.
Less unwanted criticisms. Less trance.
Love thy country.
Pin-striped shorts
from M&S; Stronger will.
No slitting wrists or overdoses. Suspend disbelief.
No secret candy stashes. Do your laundry without being told.
Omit racism, misanthropy. Wilted flowers by the windowsill.
No secret phone calls in the middle of the night.
Who are you afraid of? Almost and nearly don’t count.
Come home.
Forgive favorite band for disappointing album.
Be kinder to puppies.
Brood, not rant. Skulk, not stalk.
Get my name right.
Don’t drink and drive.
There are no gays, no lesbians, only
people with feelings.
Fight, not flight.
Have more 24-hour pizza places.
Avoid politicians, traitors, lawyers.
No throwing around words like vociferance,
vociferate, vociferous.
Accept fate – don’t be a martyr;
One day everything fades
so hold on to
all your post-it memory
until every star

turns to dust.
Bluebird Sep 2016
I am trying to make a plum jam
because you said you hate it,
because it makes me happy,
but last few days
i keep finding your cigarrete stashes
in unusaul places.

my mind is filled with smoke
leave me and my plums alone
Shadow Rai Jun 2010
Douse ye flame snub thou to ashes
Bury well thine reserved stashes

...and plead tears hath no mercy
CURSE YE!
Sir, see your deeds cause pleurisy
Neural’s feed off chaos’s vitae stench
whence did ye awaken as a corpse?

Denounce ye faith scrub scour ye caches
Hurry, Hell’s cries serve blasphemes

...and in thine end a fury
WORRY!
For ye shall be judged and juried
Scurry til ye nails wear to a dusting
lusting for a life once lived no more...
© 2008 By Shad
Maple Mathers Mar 2016
An instant such as that, god only knows how much it had hurt. I resolved on a plan, a terrible, disgusting plan. One that required me to push away my conscience and semblance of self entirely.

A plan which left me ultimately heartless.

Oliver Starkweather, the only boy in the world. He had taken the part of me which made me more vulnerable to him than anyone else. Not only that, he was the only person I felt that I truly cared about, the only person, family included, that I could even begin to imagine using the word love on. The only entity that could ever hurt me. And that realization tied me to him forever.

Yet, that made me weak when I wanted to be strong, controlled when I wanted to control.

I had discovered a secret in a week that Oliver hadn’t in a year. His father; rich, generous, and virtually absent from his life, had a small additional house built on their property. Something he’d told me once was, “My dad works in sales.” At night when I couldn’t sleep, I took to exploring their big empty house. One week into my stay, I dared to venture out into the newer one. It was there that I discovered the bookcase. It appeared normal, every book on the shelf was dusty and ridiculously boring looking. The rest of the room had similar bookshelves with similar looking books, but they were mixed in with vibrant titles and a more alluring collection. From there, I began taking down books off of the shelf and flipping through them. The majority were as boring inside as they were out, but the fifth one I collected - which came from the top right corner - turned me whole perception upside down.

Being a morbid little girl, I had always been fascinated with taboos. I would sneak into my dad’s office at night and search words on his computer. Words like gore or ******* or drugs. When I opened that book I knew instantly, even at fourteen, that a book with all the inside pages cut out and baggie after baggie of white powder inside meant trouble. On the shelf, I found three more secret stashes. After that I’d seen enough.



    When the autopsy was performed, the results read drug overdose. My tracks were well covered, for Oliver’s dad assumed Oliver had been secretly dipping into his bookshelf. Dealing was a felony that Mr. Starkweather was not about to risk, so he confessed that Oliver had been struggling with a drug problem. Sweet, demure, heartbroken me was sent back home, and years of therapy brainwashed me into so much denial that I was able to bottle up the entire story and force myself to forget. Deep down, I’d always known, but my mental unrest defied that.

Consequently, he returned. Maybe karma drove me crazy, maybe it was guilt.

But more than anything, it was probably loneliness.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, our reality is covering the stashes of our unrealistic fantasies:}


take me away wherever you say

I am prone to your plead and dismay

hold me tight under the bright

just where we are undercover out of the hideous sights

pull me another and linger on me and my covers

for what will you deprive me of your taste of winters

and your shine of summers


                                                                       ------ravenfeels
Xphaedos Dec 2016
Ring around the rottings
Of the burning bodies
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

Ring around the masses
Smiling through the ashes
Fire, fire, we all burn in Hell

Ring around the decayed
Tiring games that we played
Silence, silence, no one is alive

Ring around the whispers
On all our mouths are zippers
Gruesome, gruesome, ways to die

Ring around the darkness
Which fills all of our hearts
Eyes sewed, eyes sewed, eyes sewed shut

Ring around the stumbles
the trippings and the troubles
Crumble, crumble, we're all trapped

Ring around the newborn
As we are reborn
Sightless, hungry, we eat all

Ring around the children
Hungry once again
Eat up, eat up, before they're gone

Ring around the parking meters
They will never leave here
Never, escape, fully alive

Ring around the insane
For we've eaten their brains
Gnawing, gnawing, at last full

Ring around the trashings
Of the goings and the passings
Time is, time is, falling down

Ring around the table
Not to pray, we're unable
Stabbing, ruthless, together now

Ring around the fires
Smoke goes up in spires
Ashes, ashes, more children rain down

Ring around the ashes
We pull out our secret stashes
Flesh of who we used to be

Ring around the old flesh
Stretching over the rest
Children, children, you'll be reborn

Ring around the needles
To sew the eyes with beetles
Stitch, stitch, sew, sew, you're all beautiful

Ring around the knives
to stab and slash children of all sizes
Soon, soon, you'll be like us

Ring around their blood
Bubbling and hissing into the mud
You won't need that anymore

Ring around the whispers
The reborn all need their mouth zippers
Hold still, it won't hurt, see? Now, it's done

Ring around the embers
We now have more members
Of our insane democracy

Ring around your street
Your house is pretty neat
Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll be next

Ring around the gallows
Hidden in the shadows
Tying, tying, you'll choke now

Ring around the findings
You didn't leave a sign of
Struggle, struggle, or bleeding out
Waverly Feb 2012
Lord Forgive me,
I have talked about love,
I have talked
about love,
I have broken commandments
on my skin,
I have killed a thousand
dogs
in my mind,
I put arsenic
in Jesus' cereal,
I placed myself
at the center
of the world
and lit a match,
I have put my heart
in precarious positions
and called women
demons,
I have stolen $3,000
from my family:
credit cards
maxed out,
private stashes,
blacked out,
I even asked my own momma
for a few dollars
for something to eat
when you know where
I went; how I fed myself,
Lord Forgive me,
Lord
*******.
Lord Forgive me
for ******* the You
in Me,
no born-again **** here,
I'm just placing a collect call
out to the galaxies,
please accept the charges.
Jonathan Moya May 2019
The rain creates its own ballet
starting with a lone figure on a bridge
holding an umbrella in the fog
splashing teardrops with his feet,
doing jetes over the larger puddles,
until the wind inverts his shade,
plies turning to pirouettes,
approaches cascading to the portal
and the head of the street,
dancing to a cityscape beyond.

At the last turn they meet cute,
their outward canopies entangling
rib to rib, shadow to shadow,
a plastic bag covering hair and
half her face, soggy groceries
nursed to her chest, an oversized
purse dangling her wrist, pulling
her down, falling, wishing for
something, someone, anything
to stop the descent, the crash.

He catches her in perfect repose,
umbrellas twirling the pavement,
as he slowly lifts her to him just a
breath and heartbeat away,
their hands touching, a thousand
raindrops pulsing on and in them.

Her parasol dances away from her
over the edge into the swirl below,
his caught before flight is vigorously
shaken to form.  He stuffs fallen
apples and pears into the pockets
of his rain jacket.  She discreetly
stashes a box of tampons into
her coat’s hidden lining. The umbrella
is their only shelter as she holds
it over them while he carries her
in his arms to the nearest cover,
a bodega with a green awning.  

At the corner of the drizzling mist
a mother swaddles her boy
in the hems of her rain dress.
Unprotected singles cover
their heads with open hardcovers
or purchases clenched in plastic bags.
Couples step in unison huddled
under their vinyl domes.
It’s all a parade under black and white,
a synchronized rainbow of attitude,
adding  to the grand Romantic ballet
of bending, riding, stretching, gliding,
darting, jumping and turning to and fro.

The finale has the last drop crying
to the pavement, to the street,
washing the asphalt in its clarity,
a lachrymose river flowing down drains,
the mechanical traffic dispersing
the  rest in butterfly waves that
sends the ensemble to the edges,
leaving the coryphees alone, apart,
staring at each other in the evaporation,
waiting forlornly for the first trickle
to return and kiss their skin with joy.
Megan Dolan Feb 2014
Day 1
He walks in drowning in his own shame.
He tilts his head down shifting his hair slightly out of place.
He freezes and his eyebrows dance with the melody of his words.

Day 1
She walks in, embarrassed of her ways.
She grasps her hair, trying to sneak it into place.
She breaks and her feet withhold to carry any further.

Day 2
He gazes over his shoulder looking for a faith.
He shades his worries and looks to the ground.
He questions all morals and paces backwards.

Day 2
She whispers hate to herself and lives it.
She touches her hand where it colors of polished purple and blue.
She protects her anger and stashes aside the defeat.

Day 8
He runs from his fear of ignorance.
He struggles to keep composure as he dreams to be ordinary.
He wants himself, he needs himself to be sound.

Day 8
She finds every excuse to dive into the crashing seas.
She jitters in the face of nurture.
She wraps herself in expression of calamity.

Day 11
They disapprove where hearts rest.
They ****** themselves with society etiquette.
They dig further and further into holes of deception.

Day 11
They were never quit on the just track.
They continue the pursuit for justifications.
They surrender their will to hang on any longer, they reach for the final glimpse of light.
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, this number keeps haunting me---nice:]


spaced in faze spaced in shock

waiting for the hit of the clock upon us

jaded in here scattered in there

falling deeply into depths of despair

piles of threes and stashes in seven still unspoken fourteens

into the floors and walls of the magnificent heavens

count of one then a skip of a spree down

into curses of minutes in a bunch of twisted twenty threes


                                                                            ------ravenfeels
betterdays Apr 2017
the new cat
is a collector
he steals
ointment tops

and stashes them
inside my workshoes

he like to walk around
with lego people dangling
from his toothy mouth

he steals my boys jocks
and ***** socks and makes
nests of smelly goodness
behind the reading chair

he is brazen, within his world
dragging a washcloth out
of my hand as I removed
make-up leaving me
panda- eyed and surprised
as I watched his awkward
tripping get away

we believe he has kidnapped
Beanie Z the zebra
but cannot at present find his lair
negoitations are ongoing...

must go....just saw him slink past
with the dishcloth......
Napowrimo day seven..... http://www.napowrimo.net/
Angie Acuña Feb 2013
I am from used tissues.
From toilet paper and anything within arms reach that I could use to wipe my nose.
I am from staying in the rain just so that they would never see the tears falling.
(Slowly crawling down the creases of my cheeks)

I am from the drooping old tree in the front yard
Where I would sit and stare aimlessly at the night sky
Whose leaves I can still draw in the dirt beside me.

I am from secret stashes of letters I never gave you
From Ashly and Taylor
I'm from the fake smiles and sobs behind closed doors.
From the "I love you"s and "I miss you"s I never said.

I'm from He has someone better
With yet again more tears
And tissues scattered all around the floor.
I am from endless music and long drives,
To clear my mind and help me think straight.
From the heartaches my mother suffered and being the only one to comfort her.
I am from fixing everybody's hearts but mine.

I am from the old Converse box under my bed.
Dusty and whispering my memories to all those who open it.
Baring my soul with the simple lifting of a lid.

I am from tragedies who have longed scarred my body.
From hiding my feelings to protect those around me.
From not being myself in order to be "myself"
This is something that I wrote for an assignment in my English class. It was to copy the style of the "Where I'm From" poem by George Ella Lyon.
Maximus Tamo Apr 2016
Day 87
We hit a harder seam today,
Several pics broke,
Gami is still sick,
I think he will pass soon,
Our food is holding well,

Day 92
We are though the bedrock,
Soon we will hit pay dirt,
A team met us with fresh tools; This means blisters again,
Morale is dropping; Gami is hallucinating,
Today he called out to Ragem; Why would a god answer him?
He is a hindrance,
Food supplies are still sufficient,

Day 93
My day-clock was broken today,
Glimli found the first gem of the mission,
In the shuffle someone smashed my clock,
It will be harder to deal with no light now,
I want Gami gone, Things are going wrong,
No one will turn back, god help us,

Day 96* *I think
I am doing my best to keep time,
When I am off the pic line I count seconds,
Gami has grown silent, I expect to bury him soon,
My bad luck has not gotten worse, I found a gem today,
We have begun filling the first of twenty carts,
Our food stores continue to hold,

Day 100?
I lost all time, We are all attempting to recreate day,
We light a lamp at three quarters oil,
While it burns we think day, when it dies; night
Gami seems to be coming back from the edge,
Today he walked on his own,
A wyrm and some rot were found in our grain,
I fear my luck has left again, I offered my first meal to Ragem,

Day 100 Something
I need to leave, Gami has recovered but his brain is damaged,
He speaks gibberish, He is insane,
The others follow him because he claims to have seen Ragem,
Gami has been given two guards, and a throne,
I don't understand whats happening,
We continued though pay dirt; found several gems today,
I have heard the walls whisper, we will begin supporting the ceiling,

120 at least
It's over we will die here, Going is so slow,
Putting supports up quarters our progress,
We expected a relief train earlier, no one has come,
Gami is ruling, everyone obeys him, but why??
I need to dethrone him, but the others will take his side,..
He must die, I will **** him,
I am developing a plan to get close to him,
Food has been rationed, I suspect because Gami is piggish,

Day 130
Today is the day of Death,
I warned Gami that the ceiling was loose,
He sent three men including one of his guards to the pic line,
They were killed swiftly by a large release from the roof,
Also two men died of sickness, likely from bad grain,
I have showed intrest in being Gami's guard, I shall not write if I am,
For fear of this falling into the wrong hands,
Ragem help me!!!




Day 145
I DID IT! I was able to **** Gami,
I followed him to the back of the group for his rest,
While he slept I placed the prepared rock in his mouth,
Then struck it with another driving it into his throat,
He died silently, and no one ask any questions,
Life has returned to normal; mostly,
We are very short on food, and continue to have bad luck,
Our gem payout is very shy of what it ought to be,
We will turn to steeper tunnels,
Praise Ragem!

Day 150
Our food is gone, few people have personal stashes,
We sent a party back up the tunnel to look for a relief train,
They have not returned, There are only fifteen of us left,
Our steeper tunnels have helped with our payout,
Hunger is always in my fore mind,
I hope they return soon,

They are here! They found the party killed but not pillaged,
Someone kept them from delivering the food and tools!
I suggested that Gami may have, to keep it for himself,
This seems to be the accepted reason, But Give Thanks, FOOD!

Day 160
Sickness persists, total numbers are down to twelve,
The sounds of the dead are all around, I fear death,
Supplies are full, but morale is horrible,
The good earth continues to give up her gems,
Maybe we will finish this work and return home?
I have been called to fill in for deceased, work loads are increasing,

Day 166
I am completely exhausted, two more have died today,
But the others seem to be recovering, Our carts are almost filled,
There is hope for survival,
There are now ten of us, shifts are halved, and rations are doubled,
Work has slowed, The walls seem to breath, Telling us to leave,
I miss my table, my wine, and my wife,

Day Something
We have decided to turn back, We dug into a chasm,
The pic line broke into it, then the rocks they stood on fell,
We lost three good men, The chasm is deeper than we can see,
There is orange light and fog at the bottom,
It will be hard to push these carts up the steeper tunnels,
Supplies hold well, has bad luck returned?


Final Entry
It is all over, as we pushed our riches up and up, The floor broke,
Dropping us into another, older, tunnel, The gems went everywhere,
Two more men were crushed by rock and carts,
We have no way to return to the tunnel above us,
We do not know which way is out,
Furthermore our food sits ten feet above us, watching us starve,
Why did I not turn back when I had the chance,

**Sweetie I love you and I I .. Cannot say how much I need,:;,.. Without anywhere to see my.:'"; AHHHHhhhhh.....
Sam Temple Mar 2016
confiscated memories
taken to dark rooms
with single 40 watt bulbs
swinging overhead
casting alien shadows
and adding to the air
of uncertainty
grainy photographs
lay haphazard
askew and strewn
as if by a child
or inconsiderate adult
making a symbolic point
children faces
from summer camp
classmates in spandex
eternally living 1991
teased bangs
and hanging wallet chains
the images distort
colors blend and fade
new images arise from the swirl
birth elation
and passing family
lost pets furry snouts
smear into the eclectic
bandaged knees
bees stings and mother’s kisses
slight pressure builds behind one eye
as a strange pull exerts force
indirect
vows and flowers
powerful allies
cash gifts and glass dishes
showered
blank polaroid’s dot the tabletop
washed-out black with lens flares
sun spots
orange hues, circular and non-committal
slowly alter and develop angles
first front porch swing
splinter banister
and sanding the space
currently void of tile
flashing stashes of mix-matched socks
boxes of books
cooking thanksgiving.

they sit quiet, lost in though
when the steady red line matches
the single tone
…sighs escape pursed lips
when the littlest member asks,
“What was he thinking about before he died?”
Martin Narrod Jan 2018
1:12:18

I don’t believe in size and fit
Or the split head’s of animals that
Cross the aching mind of the girl I’m with.
If its disease is blood then we’ve all got this
Same type of familiar sickness, just don’t Think that you won’t have to bother with it.

There’s a symptom, it shapes the skull
And wraps it with wire and twine. It’s just a Plaything or a ******* eating the fruit from The beasts and scarlet joys in the stashes
Of instant reliefs. Smooth arches off the

Feigning mood lines in the rough shadow
In your tourmaline corpse. Jostling in a glass bed of horror *** and crying as you wake up in a garden where nothing lives.
Shakes, too. Betting starvation and whet with the shivers in this strafe.
Donall Dempsey Nov 2015
STANDING NAKED BESIDE ITS SKIN
(A SERIES OF SEQUENCES )

(1)
A CHAIR SITS IN AN EMPTY ROOM

The woman unhooks
her shadow

drapes it over
a chair.

She plucks her reflection
out from the mirror

stashes it away
under the chair.

She looks into
the mirror's nothingness.

She strips off
her skin

leaves it on top of
the chair.

She switches off
the light.

The chair just
sits there

absorbing the darkness.

The woman becomes
her footsteps.

The light from the bathroom
throws itself into the room

falls just short of
the chair's legs.

The razor blade
slashes through flesh.

She bites the tip of
her tongue.

She watches her blood
whirlpool down the sink

( she does not stop to think )

washing away the pain
washing away this self.

A chair sits
in an empty room.

(2)
THE MOON REFUSES TO SHOW ITS FACE

An owl is the darkness.

Only its voice is
visible

to the naked ear.

It gives voice
to the darkness.

The darkness says
nothing.

It lets the owl
speak for it.

The darkness transforms itself into the owl.

The owl becomes the darkness.

The moon refuses
to show her face.

Silence seeps back.
The owl says nothing.
The darkness says nothing.

A human cries.

(3)
MANY MOONS

she remembers an apple
standing naked
beside its skin

apple cut and cut and cut
like little slices of moon
fallen on the ground

the apple no longer a thing
to be eaten
now only a thing of fascination

the many scattered slices of moon
the earth a black sky
ants walking on the moons

she picks up one of the moons
licks it clean of ants and dirt
places it upon her tongue like a wafer

soon she remembers nothing
nothing
nothing at all

her life the empty space
where she had cut herself
out of her photographs


Michael W Noland Feb 2013
Cars were parked all over the yard, with rusted parts, and chipped paint, that gave way to faint brown sprays on jagged window frames.

And where the oil puddles turned the tall grass grey, a trail was made that lead the way, to the house where the bodies laid.

Stripped of clothes, and filleted in droves, they were posed in ways i couldn't explain.

He used a hammer to remove the teeth, and neatly sawed them into pieces at the creases, as he dumps the clumps into a drum of something acidic, before pouring it down the sink, where he swiped the fodder, and runs the water until clean.

He then places the teeth on sheets of torn cloth that he bundles up, and stashes up in the loft, before heading off for the street, to repeat his play, to the piece, so his dreams can seep into your day.

He was a hitch hiker, having his way.
Thibaut V Jun 2014
stagnate-
up the creek par se
every which way
I'd use alliteration
for this rash
but its not homogenous
instead in separate stashes-
painfully buoyant idle and robust;
ducks

Brain fried
like a thousand flies,
above the floating trash,
better identified-
the outskirts
of a vague form
than the innocuous worm
found in straw surrounded ponds
in wiggling room -more than enough;
stuck

come in short
into the common fort
to flaunt, gauge, and gauze
columned concerns-
the core and the cause
for which there was none

yet allowed slow a ripple
to echo, reverse and to dribble
to re-emerge the subtlety
of a moving hill
Sophia May 2013
never tell a sad girl that she is an artist

or she will spend the rest of her life crying out for the moon

and pressing flowers into books

she will hide stashes of poems under the mattress like a ******

and she will try to start fires with her tongue

her fingertips stained blue from the sadness in her spine

her eyes will become maps of new cities

but when she closes them

she will be like that girl in the old photographs again

with the floral dresses and tragically fair hair

who held hands and cried

and felt no need to write about it
andromeda green Apr 2018
She wears a mask of steel around her face,
That one can never break,
She stashes her feelings behind her smile,
But to discover them would be worthwhile,
She seems fine on the outside,
While she pushes her emotions aside
Onto the platter of feelings that drowns
Beside the superficial wearing crown,
When she just wants to scream
This isn’t the real me

This mask developed over time
From the harsh words she was forced to mime,
The feelings that she had within,
Came about her thick buckskin
No longer can the feelings break through
Bittersweet tears swept away as her spirit bid adieu

- a.g.
Executive decisions, from the divine commission, hope yall listening,
While the winds whistling, tryna score points to anoint, to a christening,
Knowledge is power, and dont grow sour, plant the seeds, see the flower,
Of my infamous prowess, I suggest yall take it as a diss, cry out a nemesis,
My thesis, the coldest new genesis, yo I hope yall feeling this, styles crisp,
Deeper than an abyss, penetrate a kiss, from my girls lips, rock the hips,
Uh im loving it, hovering it, complications lead to fragile destinations,
Of creation, never stop my station, of the visions focus like a Mason,
No need for chasing, women no ***** wasting, begins a facing,
Off with the temptations, papa was rocking them stones, all alone,
My gems was dropping, topping out all over the fashion flavaz, grazer,
Of the universe, I'm Berius growing furious, at the young earth,
Since my birth, I gotta mission, enlighten the souls of the people, before I vanish,


A chosen child, amongst the wild, pack a linguistic of Kyle, southpark,
Only walk outside when it's dark, in the park, happy as a lark, catch the spark,
From the falling stars, yo do they know who we are, DMX, swift when I plex,
Push the lex, let the dome lights sparkle my baguettes, never hit cigarettes,
Only to cigars I lit, boss hit on some mafiaso type ****, hype my pitch,
When I spit, watch the demons circle around, catch me dreaming,
I'm intervening life and death, in between and, it got me fiending,
Like a ****** like my womens chunky, in the *****, slim waist with hour glasses,
Tidy up my stashes, no hashtaggin this, I keeps it 100 with my fans man,
And I hope yall understand, if I die I'll still be amongst the presence, as a stand
Like michael peeling back the pain bands, see the masses in my hands,
They dont give a **** about us, see how the many hole I could poke, in justice,
Just as, look at the chaos that spins like taz,  manian devils, lookin for rebels,
We gate keepers of the mice galaxies, so why dont you follow me,
If you ain't scared of mockery, and probably I be marked like Jesus at 33,
Higher the degrees, the deeper the seas, I dont wanna drown, pass up forth downs,
All around I left my soul to be found, at the lands of only, where the enlightened can be found,

— The End —