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Journal of Darkness: Assassin and Deceptress


Nov 21, 2011, 8:17:32 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




(description of storyline: all characters in this work are dragons, with the ability to change into a human form. they live in present day society, but have a base in the middle of the desert. there is a library with the history of the world, which is operated by stacra, an organization to preserve the peace in the world. there is a rival organization, the dracra, who wish to take it over. the dracra is led by a dragon named Darkheart, a dragon who has haunted the Scar line for millenia.)
"... sahsa...."
what was that mumbled sasha, a small town girl in modern day USA. she was nearly asleep when the voice called to her.
sasha was usually described as a freak. she was a dragon fanatic, and she carried her favorite books wherever she went, Brink of Insanity: journal of the Wild and the Broken; and its companion, Blood curse:  journal of the Destroyer and the Savage. they told of dragons living in new york who had to bear a family curse and sought a way to release it. the author was only known as "Lucian".
"....sasha...."
i'm sure i heard it that time...
"....come to me sasha...."
she didnt know why but she felt as if she absolutely had to find the source. she was barely clothed but quietly snuck out, leaving small footprints in the snow.
"....sasha!...."
she felt panicked. as the voice grew louder so did her heart, beating quickly in her ears. some sort of animal instinct took over and she somehow Managed to run on all fours. her whole body began tingling, her skin writhing. she looked back and nearly choked: wings and a tail... had grown from her body. her whole body turned white as scales etched their way into life over her skin. her body began elongating and enlarging, becoming streamlined and lizardlike. she was transforming...
"...yes!... just as you said, master...."
"...quiet, kovu..."
sashas vision went dark as she stumbled, barrelling through the snow. when she looked up, she saw an enormous dragon, with scars just like the ones in her book. "she will be a fine student."
sasha was dumbfounded as she saw her parents walk up behind them. "greetings, master Lucian, kovu." said her father.
"and you, rydon."
"y-you...know...?" stammered sasha.
"all will be explained in the morning, sasha," replied her mother.
sasha felt tired and her eyes shut as the ground came up to meet her.
sasha sat alone at the picnic table, surrounded by lucian, her father rydon, her mother sophia, and kovu. "so... you're all.... dragons.... like in my books..." she gestured to the two books.
lucian stepped forward and placed a hand on the books. his hand glowed and the glossy books turned to worn, leather journals. "yes, we are dragons. sasha. and you have done well guarding my journals."
"your... journals? but i thought that these were best-selling novels..."
lucian chuckled, "no no. young one, there are only two other copies of each of these in existence."
"wow..."
her father spoke up now, "so what are you here for, master? is it time for her to leave us?"
"leave?! what do you mean leave?!"
rydon looked worriedly at lucian and then at sasha,"you are dragon, and it is tradition for you to be trained."
"but what if i dont want to leave?!"
her father began to become angry,"its not your choice!"
"then whose-"
lucian's eyes glowed red in anger, "rydon, haven't you taught your daughter respect? surely you would know of my ways by now."
rydon nodded, "i- i'm sorry, master. i don't know whats come over her."
sasha ran, shifting to her new dragon form and flying away. darkheart had warned her of this, that lucian was a dictatoria leader. she asked herself, "why had her father taken his side? why did this have to happen so suddenly? and most of all, what was she going to do next?"
darkheart had given her directions to meet her after lucian made contact. sasha flew, tired as she was not used to the extra limbs.
once she reached the spot that darkheart had told her, she waited and thought things through.
once darkheart arrived, she spoke, "i want to join you. i beleive everything you've said."
darkheart chuckled, "i knew you would dear girl, lucian is the same as his grandfather, they both hounded me and tortured me, for their own twisted ways. i've tried to keep as many as possible from falling into their cluthces. i wasn't able to **** scarheart, as he captured me and forced me into his own body as an energy slave. he tortured me even there, and after he died, lucian, his grandson, got me. he too tortured me."
sasha looked at her in sock, "thats terrible. i didnt know..."
"you couldnt have, darling. those evil dragons keep everything from those who should know."
sasha stood, "i want to be trained. by you."
"really? i warn you, it is quite tough. not all survive. you must be willing to do whatever it takes to stop those vile dragons."
*     *     * 3 years later
sasha was 20 years old, and it was time for her to take on her first big mission: infiltrate lucian's schol and learn everything she could.
sasha had already talked to lucian, apologizing for her behavior so long ago. lucian had seemed hesitant but allowed her in. foolish old bat. she thought. she had been at the compund for a year and a half now and had become familiar with their ways.  sasha would often wonder why she was doing this, and she remembered, darkheart had said that lucian killed sashs's father. she always looked at him with scorn and wished to **** him. but she restrained herself and kept on the facade.
today she felt especially hating towards every master she came in contact with. she passed tsai, lucian's right hand dragon, as he went to talk with the master. she tried to eavesdrop but they were speaking in an ancient, coded language. she growled and her white scales flashed in the sun.


"Lucian, somethings not right about that youngling sasha... she's always watching us, like she's gathering information."
"yes, tsai, i know. i know exactly what she is."
"what?" tsai looked skeptical.
"she's an agent, an informant. for darkheart."
tsai stared, incredulous."wha?! how do you know?!"
"ive been under the influence of darkheart before, as have you. something about sasha is of darkheart's doing."
tsai nodded "even still, is she possessed by her or under orders?"
lucian thought for a moment "i beleive under orders..."
both stared as lucian's son, kovu, walked up to sasha.
*       *        
"sasha! hi!" kovu had taken a liking to sasha since his father took her as an apprentice.
"oh, um. hi. kovu..." *i cant let my emotions get in the way of my mission!
"how have you been?" sasha felt herself blush under the gaze of the drake. he wasnt half-bad to look at, and she often caught herself watching him.
"i'm doing great, training with tsai is always fun. what about you and master lucian?"
her eyes darted to her master, her target, then back at kovu. "you mean you're... dad?"
"yeah... my dad... but we students can only call them by their designation. even master scaleweaver calls some elders master."
sasha's ears pricked up as she heard scaleweaver's name. she was assigned to gather information on all of the masters. i must make madame darkheart proud... i am worthy... she must see that...
"is... something wrong, sasha?"
she caught herself, "n-no i'm just tired is all... just tired..."
her master lucian came toward her what a fool, he doesnt even know about me... "sasha, i need to speak with you.... alone."
kovu difpped his head and backed away respectfully.
"sasha, come."
she swallowed her pride and said, "yes... master..." and followed him.
once they were outside, lucian turned to her and said, "i know, sasha. i know that darkheart sent u here to gather information on us."
sasha's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. she thought hard how?! how does he know?! this cant be possible....
"i-i dont know what youre talking about, master..."
lucian turned on her with a peircing gaze, and made her wince as he studied her. "there are better ways to lie, youngling... but not to me. ive known for quite some time now."
sasha felt her legs give out beneath her. she sat, looking into the dust, listening incredulously at lucian. "how... how do you know?!?!"
sasha ran forward, clawing at lucian's throat. she was instantly frozen in place, an immensely strong spell holding her legs in place.  "let me go, lucian!"
"its master to you, youngling. and why would i let you go? you just tried to **** me." sasha struggled helplessly against her bonds. she saw lucian mutter something and felt her legs grow suddenly cold. she looked and gasped as ice started to creep up her haunches.
"lucia-master, please let me go... i was only under orders."
lucian chuckled, "how did darkheart get to you?"
"i can't tell you..."
"oh? then let me guess; theres another informant, a higher up in stacra, who told darkheart about you and she arrived, possibly a week before us? she fed you a story of stacra destroying the world and trying to take over the one that they created. she told you that she was only trying to help restore order. am i close?"
sasha felt naked under the gaze of the elder, who saw straight through her act and through her commander's plan. it made her heart quicken and her scales writhe. she felt a sharp pain as the ice crept up and chilled her thighs, creeping steadily upwards. "how... how can you know these things?! darkheart said you wouldnt be able to know... she said that you held her prisoner... that you tortured her... she said that you- you killed my father."
lucian shook his head and wiped something from his face, revealing gruesome scars. "she altered her face to look like mine... look, and know the truth." he placed a claw on her forehead and she gasped as a flood of memories flooded her, darkheart inside lucian's mind, taking over him, taunting him, and forcing him to do terrible things. she heard lucian say, "she tortured me, she held me captive. its true that stacra destroyed the world, but look also;" she saw the corrupt government of old, and their wretched attrocities. "they brought about their own destruction. we created the world you know, but dont wish it to be taken over, we merely want peace...We act as peacekeepers. darkheart seeks to enslave all to do her bidding. and your father died at darkheart's talons, not mine." sasha saw a gruesome scene as lucian tried to save her father.
she felt him withdraw, and felt the magic and ice withdraw from her, the ice's touch fading from her ****. she shivered and crouched low, warming her body.
"sasha, darkheart is a liar... she's been at it for thousands of years." he watched her shiver and said. "come, sit around the fire."
sasha noddded and followed close behind lucian, hiding her vulnerable state.
"i'm sorry, master."
"all will be okay, sasha... all will be fine.."
lucian brought sasha into his study under his wing. he had her sit down in front of the fire and draped a blanket over her. he sat down behind her, looking over the latest reports, waiting for her to speak. after a few minutes she sighed and looked back at lucian, tears forming in her eyes. "is everything you said true? Is darkheart nothing but a deceptionist?"
lucian looked up at her and nodded. "all of it was true. I'm sorry, sasha. darkheart is a gifted deceptionist and many of us have fallen for her tricks.  including me."
sasha turned back and looked into the fire with sad eyes, tears rolling down her cheek. she shuddered and took a shaky breath. lucian came up beside her and placed a comforting paw on her shoulder.
"darkheart forced me to **** my best friend... a she-drake named Clia... in front of her other followers to show that we must be able to turn on anyone to fulfill the mission..."
lucian nodded, "so I had heard... darkheart has become more cruel than ever."
"l-lucian, what can i do to make her pay?"
lucian thought for a while and then shook his head. "let me think more on this, sasha. for now, let no one know that you are an affiliate of darkheart, it could have deadly consequence. you may remain in here if you wish, or you may return to your own quarters. i have some things to attend to."
sasha nodded to him and gasped as everything went still and dimmed, even the fire seemed grey and frozen.
"wha-"
"sasha... you must tell me now, will you work with me?"
she was stunned. "where are you? what do you mean?"
"you want to get back at her, i know how to. but you must tell me if you will work with me."
"i-i will, lucian. but whhy ask now, and in this way?"
"because, there is someone here, that is going to try to **** you. he was listening to us and is going to attack you with magic. ive cast a spell that will give an apearance of death. just let the magic do its stuff and u'll do fine">
"but wait!"
"you must trust me, sasha."
all of a sudden, everything went back to normal, and lucian was gone, she could hear his fading footsteps.
what was that abou- wait! the killer... she kept facing the fire and listened as she had been taught to the clawsteps of the incoming dragon.
"is it true? you're one of them?!"
sasha turned and gasped, flashing him a shocked, innocent look over her shoulder. "what are you talking about, kovu?"
he was angry, and she was struck with fear. "i overheard you and lucian talking. i heard everything."
sasha turned to face him."y-you, heard everything..."
"then you are one of them! i cant beleive it... i cant beleive i trusted you."
kovu stepped forward and sasha's eyes shifted, trying to find a way out. "kovu, i- i can explain."
"you're nothing but a trickster, a deceptress! dont try to talk me out of this."
her heartbeat quickened, stricken with dread. "out of... out of what, kovu?"
he said nothing but uttered the death spell.
*      *    
sasha let herself go, remembering lucian's spell. but as she did so, she thought about why she was doing this. *to make darkheart suffer...
she heard lucian in her mind. "you'll be going to death-sleep for a while, a few days to make it beleivable. now sleep, sasha... sleep and i will awaken you soon."
"o-okay, master lucian..."
"there is no need to call me master anymore, sasha. from now on, you no longer exist. which is why darkheart will never see you coming. its time... dont worry."
the death-sleep overcame her and she fell to darkness.
*   * *
lucian ran downstairs and saw kovu standing over sasha's body. he put on a facade of dread and said, "kovu.... what have you done?!"
kovu looked at lucian angrily. "you were going to harbor a killer... i took care of the problem."
lucian became angry now, "no, you made more problems. you didnt think... you didnt listen. she was willing to help."
kovu snarled at lucian, "i did what needed to be done. I killed her for you, father."
lucian responded quietly, "you killed a helpless dragoness in cold blood. i have no choice but to arrest you for ******, my son." he muttered a binding spell and blocked kovu's magic. he watched kovu struggle for a moment then went to pick up sasha's seemingly lifeless body. he contacted her mentally, saying, "i'm taking your body in to the infirmary, i'll oversee your examination. in 2 days, i will wake you, when i do, be very quiet."
"yes, sir."
sasha's new appearance was stunning, quite different from the black color of her original scales, she now looked like each scale was a glittering saphire, and her horns and underside were now a shimmering silver. sasha was astonished by what lucian had done, he had also changed her voice and form, making her more slender and agile, he altered her voice in such a way that it seemed that she could charm the heart out of a rock. even lucian who had a mate of his own had to keep himself composed. but he was undoubtedly pleased that things were turning out well. lucian had to change everything about her, her eyes now a deep green, her draconic fingerprint being her tail-tip and spine, were changed to furry mane and a slender diamond tip.
she looked at herself in amirror and remarked how mature she looked.
"you may have to be put in certain situations which may have you exploit some... erm... feminine charms."
"so i'll have to...."
"only if you let it go that far. it depends on you. you said that you'd  do anything to get back at darkheart. these matters are up to your own discretion."
she thought long about this. "i want to g
this is a book i'm still writing.
I was sitting, deep in my study
Under a single desktop light,
Listening to the patter of rain
As I wrote, late in the night.
The other sound was the scrape of the nib
As it traced ink over the page,
A setting on out of the mood within
As I traced McMurtrey’s rage.

I often would write at night back then
For the house was dark and still,
With none of the interruptions that
The day would seek to fill,
So the world outside would fade from view
As the Moon came out to shine,
Then I could re-visit the world I knew
In the latest storyline.

Each tale I told from a birds-eye view
As I watched from my secret place,
A god’s perspective of what I knew
Of despair, or a saving grace,
My characters hung from puppet strings
That I dangled down from my pen,
And I teased and taunted with sufferings
In the way that I did, back then.

I never would share with the world outside
What happened within these walls,
Or open up to their prying eyes
My visions of haunted halls,
For that would take them into the light,
Out here where the world is real,
And men could see what a cruel pen
A storyteller reveals.

The night that I sat there, pondering
How to make McMurtrey fail,
He’d been obsessed with the girl Mei Ling
She was like his Holy Grail,
The storm outside was gathering
And the thunder brought more rain,
When after a lightning flash, I heard
A tap on the window pane.

It made me start, I must admit
My skin had begun to crawl,
I very slowly swivelled my chair
Around, aside to the wall,
I pulled the curtains apart just then
And I peered out into the night,
But the face that stared in back at me
Was stark in the pale moonlight.

I heard him say, vaguely, ‘Let me in!’
As the lightning flashed once more,
Despite myself, I got to my feet
Unlocking the outer door,
He strode on into the study, stood
In a stance, most threatening,
‘I’ve come in search of my lady love,
As you well would know - Mei Ling!’

The room had shimmered and shifted then
And it faded from my sight,
We stood in the Hall of Gordonstall
And I thought, ‘This isn’t right.’
The hall was hung with the tapestries
They’d brought from an old Crusade,
But nothing was real, I knew it then,
They were things that my pen had made.

‘Mei Ling’s betrothed to a Mandarin
And she wears his dragon ring,
The last I heard she was headed out
On her way back to Beijing.’
‘Then you’d better pull out your pen, old man,
Ensure that the lady stayed,
Or you’ll never get out of your mind again
While this storyline’s delayed.’

I wander the Hall of Gordonstall
And I see no way outside,
I hadn’t written the doorways in
And the walls are high and wide,
I need someone from the real world
To knock at my study door,
But I fear that I’ve lost myself inside,
As I pace the flagstone floor.

David Lewis Paget
Pauline Morris Mar 2017
Another day and they say "it's a new beginning"
But is it really, it feels more like an ending
An ending of time
In a life that doesn't rhyme

An unending march into the uncertain
Like the droping of life's curtain
Another day closer to the end
But I'm still waiting on my life to begin

I'm tired of this life's storyline
I want a different out come this time
I want happy, not sad
I want the good, not the bad

But there is no off ramp
Sadness leaving it's tattooed stamp
An uneasy feel of being a ***** lost *****
Meanwhile life just goes on like a vamp

Over and over the same music plays
A sorrowful song, for long anguished days
But I want a change in the beat
An uplifting melody to get me on my feet

Will you be my new rhythm
An escape from my prison
Are you my golden key
Will you try to set me free

Will you hold me tight
When I'm a sad sorry sight
There is no cure for my depression
But will you help the darkness lessen

Or will you run for the hills
Jump in the sea and grow gills
Just to get away
From a disease you can not sway

As the darkness continues devouring
Will you leave me here cowering
Slowly choking down another toxic pill
Till this clock like heart's hands stand still

©Pauline Russell
ramon cayangyang Feb 2017
writing a beautiful rhyme not
always end with a great storyline ,

not all the song , always gave you
a relaxing time ,

Just like as love ' it always start
with a simple "hi" but not end
with a beautiful smile

sometimes it end's with the
Saddest "Goodbye" .
#love
#saddestsmile
#brokenheart
Deb Jones Aug 2018
Dreams are stories we tell ourselves
While we sleep
Every person is our inner tongue
Every object is one
We have once held or saw.
We are the ones that control our dreams
The ones that decide the storyline
The entertainment for the night
The ones that dream
In seemingly random circles
We are the puppet masters
Our memories the stage
Enjoy them.
Even the scary ones.
Enjoy them.
The beauty of our minds are at their finest while we sleep
One of the long list of credentials that I have is as a Registered Sleep Therapist. I think it’s the one I have the most fun with.
And everyone dreams. I watch people sleep. A lot of people just don’t remember their dreams. Did you know that half the population dreams in black and white?
I love my dreams. I dream in conscious vividness.
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
__________
Ivory Grace Apr 2015
I understand that I'm not the first book you would pick up, that is if you were looking at the cover.
For there are so many books with alluring colors, and I am one dim color with a tattered binding.
But understand one thing; just because what your eyes see first isn't what your mind will interpret later on.
Yeah, an eye-catching outside layer is nice to look at, but what about the inside?
I promise you that even though I may not catch your eye, I have an unique story that has descriptive details that will over take you and your senses.
I will leave you breathless.
When you are finished with me and set me down, you will not be done with me.
You will refer to me about many things and one day my storyline may cross your mind.
EGDarling Mar 2013
You kept your fish hook out
so long that you forgot it was out there, and
now it’s the time for you to leave but

I still want you to stay, circling the bait
with my fins teasing your taut line; you watch as
i bite into petulance greater than infinity
(if there was such a thing)

and i claim i went after another: a thinner wire
a stronger lead weight, a further cast

but even you see past these big
snow globe eyes equidistant as your
debonair lures me in as my final
gulp of home drags me up to your arms
Higgs Nov 2012
People often criticise the BBC.
They say it fails to give a balanced view of things.
Well, one day, there was a meeting.
And they decided to try something different.

It started off in the same way as usual
The Six o'clock News.
With that newsreader I like.

She seemed happy enough,
Talking about the day's grisly events,
With a cheery smile.

Predictable headlines.

Gun massacre in America.
Politicians pontificating. (Just like they did after the previous one.)

Civil war in an African country.
Which one? (Who cares. Doesn't affect us.)

Bombing in the Middle East.
"Some people may find these pictures distressing..." (But they showed them anyway.)

Mass ****** at home.
How many corpses so far? (Only two more to go before it's a record!)

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies.
Seen it all before.
Where's the remote?...

But just as I was about to switch
To a different channel,
About half way through the programme,
It was back to her.
In the studio.

"But, on a happier note, here's what's currently going on at an address in London".

Huh?

Picture cuts to the inside of a large Victorian house.
Drawing Room with furniture cleared out of the way.
And in the middle of the room...

AN ****!

Eh?

Fifteen, maybe twenty people.
Difficult to count, because of the positions.
No music. No voice-over. No corny storyline.

Just *******.

And licking. And *******. And panting. And grunting.

And laughter!
Lots of laughter.
All of them having so much fun.
Every shape, size and colour.
Nobody left out. Everybody united
In the blissful pursuit

OF HAPPINESS!

Bodies. Bodies. Bodies.
Never seen anything like it.
Where's the record button on this remote?...

But then, after a few minutes,
It was back to the studio.
There she was again
Smiling
(And looking a little flushed.)
She winked at the camera.
"That's all from us. We'll be back at Ten."


Three million people phoned in to complain
About the ***.

Nobody  complained
About the violence.

What a peculiar world we live in.
Totally fictional!
It's really just a comment on the strange attitudes governing what is shown on British TV. It seems that *** is bad but violence is perfectly OK, even on the news at tea-time. I've never understood why this is the case.
Addison René Nov 2017
i just want to drink some tea
and go to sleep
i'm tired of
another week of
defeat

i don't even like tea

growing up seems
stupid
i feel dumb and
useless
full of ****
and excuses
life's weird
and i'm so
foolish

leave me out
to dry
i just don't feel
like trying
love me
like another lie
so you can leave me for
some other storyline


i don't even like you
JM Jan 2013
Look at where we are now.
We have **** stores on every corner.
Our fifteen year old pipe dreamers
just collectively **** themselves.

We have dubstep finally.

Who the **** needs
an instrument
or training
or talent
when
I can steal fruity loops
and make my own ****?
I make dope beats at the same place
I
"write"
"poetry".

A cold fog is seeping into the park
across the street and I like to say "****" a lot.

Google makes me feel like a ******* king,
ordering my minions
to go and fetch me
the whys and wherefores of
how butterflies communicate.

Why?

Because *******, that's why.

We have countries revolting
against *******
who have been in power
for decades
but now we have
Facebook,
*******!
Take that!
You can't get away with ****.
Ask Osama.
How long will it take before peace sets in?
Will it take as long for the machines to take over?
Both outcomes seem inevitable.

We have as much ***
as we can download
and pretty soon

our reality will be completely virtual.
If you got the money, honey.

I see our white bloated
underbelly
sagging and scraping
****
against ***** beer stained floors,
a crimson trail,
bodies in the swath
of decadence
and a most
revolting pursuit of debauchery,
Thank God!

It's fun to go off the grid sometimes,
like when cable
and the interwebs
become that luxury
that you can't justify,
you know, reality.
Ha! What a joke.

It wont be long until some clown
figures out time travel
and we all burn up in
the resulting feedback loop.
That's what the big bang was.
Some other clown,
some other place,
figured **** out.

It's not gonna be me, Jack.

I'm on the cusp.
Not really, I am a full on scorpio,
*******.

But

I was lucky enough
to remember
rotary phones
and lite brites
and playing ******* outside.
Sounds nostalgic and sweet, right?
**** that,
those hours I spent
burning some heavy metal logo
into that stump outside mom's house?
With a ******* magnifying glass
*** we didn't know what cable tv or mp3's were?
I was dreaming
about **** shops
and making weird ****** up
noises that sound alarmingly
similar to fuckstep.
**** YES!
I was bored as ****
and couldn't wait for a day
when I could plug in a new
******* universe,
my universe,
my way,
I create the characters and the storyline.
My internal apps do the rendering.
Get it?
I was thinking of that ****
way back when,
so it makes sense that
someone
a little more ambitious
and well funded
was making that stuff,
even back then.
The farmers don't let the sheep know much, do they?

That's all well and good mate,
but how happy are you gonna be
when you lose all your **** because
some 22 year old knows more about
binary than you do?
How ******* awesome is your pabst
collection and your dad's old 45's gonna
be when you are *** out because you
thought you could become an internet
billionaire and your sister just got tired
of carrying your ***?
This world is ******
and we are growing out of our pants too fast.
Even the smart ones aren't gonna be able to keep up.
Have fun mother *******.
Do it now,
NOW!
Get laid as much as you can
with as many as you can,
but love them all,
and mean it,
you *******,
this **** isn't gonna happen again.
We are on the cusp of the singularity
and it's gonna be one hell of a ride.
ramon cayangyang Sep 2016
Writing a poem is not always about making a beautiful rhyme .

Sometimes it is about giving your
Reader a beautiful smile :) because
Of your wonderful lines

A line that will always be on their minds.

Like on love , it is not always about sayin
your cheesy lines on your special someone without them  knowing it is full lies .

True love is like writing a poem with such
A beautiful story line . with great dedication and sacrifice

Showing not only on their minds how
Great your love is . but also on their minds and eyes how big your love is .
#poemoftheday:D#greatlove
Erin Schwartz Mar 2015
If my mind were a book
You would be the little details written throughout
The hidden meaning behind each word
The storyline

If my mind were a song
You would be the little verses
The rhythm and rhymes
The beat

If my mind were your mind
I wouldn't be present
I would be pushed back to the far corner where no one can look
I would be nonexistent

But my mind and your mind are not the same
I am present
I am open for everyone to see and experience
I am existent

My mind isn't our song
But plays a true tune
The rhyme and rhythm soft
The beat slow

My mind is only a book
Where you are the little details written occasionally
There's more meaning behind my words other than you
The storyline is mine
Jennifer Freya Sep 2014
Two decades in and already swamped with memories
And only the desire to make new ones.
Walking to class or coming home
People ask me what I want to do,
What do I want to do with the rest of my life?

I can feel my throat constrict and my heart skid,
Don’t they understand how much of a commitment that is?
The rest of my life.

And what if it’s not something I want to do, but something I want to be?

I’m 20 years old and don’t ever have my head in this atmosphere,
So how can I ever hope to decide the rest of my life?

I want to write with the raindrops that kiss the grass
Or sleep on the waves of the ocean
And hold the stars in my hands.
I want to climb the highest tree or the highest mountain
Just so I can jump and call it flying.
I want to read the faces of others
And put them into stories.
But mostly I want to run,
Not literally,
But running still.
I want to catch time as it passes by
And go to all the places in the pictures
Enjoying adventure upon adventure
Until the end of my days,
Surrounded by the select few that I love.

I want to be nothing short of me,
And who I am isn’t a constant that can be applied to a formula,
It’s constantly changing, growing, fighting, loving.
How dare you ask me to define what I want to be,
When it’s plain that I don’t even know who I am?

I’m 20 years old and what I want to do for the rest of my life
Is nothing sort of a mystery, an adventure,
Like a storyline leading to an epic plot twist,
But it’s wrapped in uncertainty
And the only way to find out where it’s going
Is to keep reading the book.
K Balachandran Mar 2015
1.
Lovingly patting my hands
she sows goosebumps enough for two;
a rich harvest awaits our hearts.
2.
Corners of her dark eyes
doodle on my heart's canvas;
an art therapy apt, for the lovesick.
3.
Pretend, I am invisible,
ask him out, make me jealous,
frantic antics, just reversed, I understand.
4.
Movie runs on the screen,
your eyes on mine, see within,
what exquisite twists and turns
in the storyline of our secret love!
5.
Your short floral dress
loves to tango with the wind,
would I ever complain?
Q Apr 2014
"I know it's cliche, but-"
You may stop right there
As, yes, cliches exist
And nobody cares
But life is cliche
We're all just living jokes
With stories told and lived
Since millennias ago.

Be as cliche as you wish,
You can't change what's done
And the way you express it
Or the need to tell someone
Wear your cliche with pride
Because, years before you, another did not
And it tore them inside
And now, in the earth, their body rots.

"I'm in so much pain, but none of it's physical
And god, that's so ******* cliche,"
But it's the only description you know
Your played out storyline's seen better days.
Because it's such a played out, worn out cliche
But it's unique because you hurt in your own way
And lord knows we're all dealing with the same thing
Living a cliche and fighting for something to change.

You smile, you laugh; you hurt, you cry
And I promise you another in the past
Laughed and cried at the exact same time
Right up until the day they died.
Because you may be something special
But don't ever think you're something new
You're life's been lived, been replayed
By hundreds, maybe thousands, before you.
So, yes, it's going to be a cliche.
Cosmic Dust Dec 2017
Hi, it's been a while
I called to ask for I've been curious
All these days
Have you been fine?

I gotta be honest, I know it's late
Too late, yeah, I took a while
I hope you'd still hear me out
Just like old times

For years, by my side
Since the beginning of time
You were there and I'm thankful,
Thankful that you were mine

There were things I couldn't tell you
And feelings I failed to show
You'd probably hate how long this would be
But I thought that you should know

Ever since we parted
On our bed your empty space
Sunshine hasn't passed through the curtains
Light gone with the smile on your face

I still wait for your texts
Though I know you'd rather call
I'm not sure why I still hope for you
When I know I'm hoping for nothing at all

And the days that have passed
You never cross my mind
For you were there and never left
You haunt me all the time

I still see you in crowds
And places we used to be
In the form of silhouettes
And flashbacks of old memories

How I came to let you go
You gave up without a fight
The you whose words were beautiful
Became silence that was cold as ice

"Let's live our separate lives"
"I'm sorry, it's for the best"
I thought I didn't deserve as much
To be loved as much as love itself

No, I'm not here to apologize
To the damage already dealt
But I may be drunk to send you this
Too drunk on hurt and regret

Today you're supposed to be happy
For it's the day that you were born
And the day you walk down the aisle
With happiness that's yours to own

You were the eye and I, the storm
Like hurricanes we formed our home
You were the peace that's meant to stay
And in your life, I shall dissolve

It's not goodbye for eternity
Warmth of your peace I'd always seek
Right now we're just not meant to be
But the next lifetime, I hope it's you I still meet
for Shay, Tine, Stel,  and every NielSung shipper out there!!
Eric Jan 2019
6 years ago when I fell Apon love .
5 mistakes were like a million .
4 letters in the word love .
3 reasons why I can't live without you.
2 is us as we were one.
1 meaning to all of this .

I Love You
I as in myself a imperfect being
Loves
You as to me the most perfect being for me.
7 billion people in this world
And I want you
I need you
My souls body of essence craves your very presence.
And I'm here now
After all that's said and done
The war we couldn't put out
Has won
I in hospital bed
Praying for the next day not to arrive
Because you refuse to see me
Even know you've been what's keeping
Me alive
I wish I could forget that I'm that guy
I wish there was such things as
Spreading your wings and flying
No, I'm so grounded that I forgot there
Was solid ground
Now every where I go
I fall into these holes , these voids
You left in the road to my heart.
Now that roads untravable
But it's not your fault
I have lost my way anyway.
Meg B Dec 2014
Self-inflicted distractions,
ingesting every possible stimulation the
world can afford me,
lost in peopleplacesandthings
abusing myself with every tangible
substance,
redirecting my mind away
from addiction,
but try my damnedest and still
there you are in the lyrics of a new song,
so I start to read and there
you are
in the character in my book,
turning on the TV and there you are
in the storyline,
stumbling into another man's bed and
he becomes you
when my eyes are
closed;
everywhere I run
my addiction finds me,
and sometimes I fear
I will never escape
you;
you are there
in all the places I go
in all the people I meet
in all the things I see;
I see you
I feel you
I taste you
I smell you
I hear you;
you are my five senses,
you have infiltrated my bodyheartandmind;
even without you,
you still control me,
you still catch me slipping,
my mind wandering to you
in my dreams, subconscious still stained
with your imperfect, incomplete, undeserving imprint;
in my attempts to forget you
your memory refuses to
let
    me
         g   o.

I guess
once an addict,
always.
Despondent Sep 2015
Yeah, we have a great relationship. But imagine how much better this would be if I actually loved you back?
But oops, that's right. I forgot to tell you that I'm kind of incapable of loving another human being.

But it's okay, it's not like love is real anyways.

And even though a good percentage of the general population have the same opinion as me, I'm labeled by those around me as a cynical, lonely, pessimistic girl, simply because others can't seem to comprehend that everything I say is derived from my own personal perspective and observations that I've made.
What was it that the naively optimistic, overly positive young man from the book store called me?
Oh yes, an "unjustifiably, unnecessarily negative teen who is disappointed with her life because she has yet to 'experience love.'"
Despite his ignorance and obscenely immature mindset, which evidently accounted for his matching personality, I don't think he realized that my lack of belief in the existence of "true love" was the exactly the reason that I was in the book store.
Because, as I came to realize, it appears that the only form of "love" that I seem to recognize as being adequate enough to somewhat believe in are those spoken of and created in novels.
It's formulated by the birth of a ridiculously intense, love fueled storyline, supported by a mindful choice of cohesive, dramatic, and emotional words.
Hence, fictional love is born, except to most it doesn't seem fictional because it's so breathtaking to read about.
They believe in it, they worship it.
As if it actually exists in an alternate universe.
The unrealistic perfection of it gives them a disgusting, false hope which just drives them to cling to it more.
It's a drug to them, they can't live without the hope that such a "love" exists somewhere in the world; they need it.
And the sad part is, they're completely oblivious to the fact that they have just become addicts, that they just sold their soul and relinquished part of their freedom to a fictitious concept.

It's so fake, it's almost real.
This is kind of more of a rant, but oh well
Vierra Feb 2017
There is a chaos theory that is dominate in my mind,
one of proper thought that has gone array,
visions of violations to our fellow man,
and whispers amongst the thieves.

If there is no honor,
then the point will be to survive in anarchy,
groveling and scrounging in the night,
to feed the pains in our bellies,

In my eyes, I will **** to feed,
but there is others who will not allow it,
and the storyline will be "I will need to be fulfilled before you'
maybe I will commit another act of treason.

After the rapture, those who live will be wasted,
like it was since ever since,
there will be title fights for structure and hierarchy
but it will still be life after Armageddon.

What will hope do to mankind?

its remains to be seen.
thoughts of anarchy and rapture.
caron Nov 2015
I am a compound of knowledge
I accumulate stories of redemption to serve privilege.
My existence is portioned for a little while.
But i shall remain a kingdom not for this little while.
All my reign I've always became ones rebound; elevator. Their legs knowth no grounds.

I kept fearlessly hoping for much less
Ain't lesser than a new day.
And that was being brave anyway.
Clear blue eyes of my inhabitants statued high at me.
How courage and passion never stopped to be.
The storyline I had is still now a motif of endurance.
I gave up not, and show offered my perseverance.

Away, from my bitter overwhelming insight.
Wisdom is one great amigo, less than him I'm wiped.
Done so good to every heart, though I remained a bad part.
I opened all my doors to welcome each, keep my composure and listen to their preach.
My grounds grew a seed out of that;  everyday.  Their eyes tortured me to believe in what they say.
Direction sometimes looked clear on their paths,
Never knew success starts on a dark start.
I kept this in my sanctified upper room.
The future is bright,  all flowers can bloom. And this is who I am; I'm a compound of knowledge.  I accumulate stories of redemption to serve privilege.
Written by my little brother Chris
s a m Jul 2018
This is a short story from my poem 'THAT WHICH HURT'.
I brought this to life as a storyline because many people were saying that they wanted to know the whole story setting of the poem.
So, this is dedicated for those people and also for everyone of you who'll read this.

...

December 13, 2018

Dark room, cold floor and walls painted black. I realized I was living there for a long time. Wanting a friend but no one to call; I live my life alone and never had a home. I was born to this world without any clue of what my purpose is. Only sorrow is what I've known...



September 22, 2017.

It’s the last day of summer but I can still feel the heat of the sun and the fresh summer breeze. I sat on the ground shaded by the canopy of a tree; I held a dandelion, I blew its petals to wish upon on it believing that my wish would come true. It’s like a fairy-tale; I was in the meadow watching flowers dance along with the birds that sings. Butterflies flew around with its beautiful and colorful wing; the wind could make you fly. Everything seems to be okay and I’m hoping it could last forever… I hope it could last…

I woke up not knowing I have fallen asleep. This time, crickets are the one that sings… bats are the ones that fly… and the once blinding brightness of the day turns into a blinding darkness of the night. I was scared… I was scared of darkness. I am so so scared that my knees are trembling in fears, my mouth was shut-closed but it really wanted to shout. Even so, I continued walking and there I find relieve.

Sigh came out of my mouth when I saw my friend worriedly looking for me. “Where have you been? I’m sick worried when you walked out earlier after those guys beat you… are you okay?” I can see through her eyes that she’s so worried. No one’s ever been like that to me except her. She’s so true.

I walked with her back to my place, she talks too much – I love everything she says. Gladly I am, I have found a girl who would always believe me in everything I do. A girl who has a brave heart to fight with me in all the challenges I’m facing. She’s a girl I cherished the most. Though people would’ve hate me for what I am or who am I and what they think of me, I care less because she’s here with me to think that I’m perfectly fine and good. I care more of her now than what I care for myself.

After a long conversations with September (Her name), I felt like not going home yet. It’s just… I like to spend more time with her. You know, it’s like there’s always magic when we’re together. Something that I couldn’t explain, I hope she felt it.

My night turns into dreams after all that happened. Thanks to September, she made my day complete. And now, another season of my life has just begun… Fall commences at dawn, I can see through the windowpanes how the outside was brought to life with a retro vibes. Leaves from the trees turned red, orange and yellowish brown which falls to the ground in a beautiful way. I could feel how majestic this season is… ravishingly good.




September 23, 2017.

Brisk cold air flew on my hair; I could feel the coming of winter. The sound of the street makes it more clearer that people are getting busier and I’m just here walking by, with no destinations to go. So I put my earphones on and music starts playing like it was a start of some sort of beautiful situation. A moment where I am fully satisfied of everything I do. But no, I think I made a wrong guessing. All it was is extremely one bad situation. Honestly worst because little did I know that I bumped into one of ‘those guys’ after trying to swerve on my path. Not just that ‘one’ but ‘he’ of all people.

He, wearing leather jacket and a pair of expensive shoes was clearly messed up after spilling the cup of coffee he was holding. I see through his eyes the raging anger of trying to **** me on his mind so I looked down swiftly enough to avoid eye contacts. I was trembling in fears again, I wanted to escape but my feet stood shaking and there’s nothing I could do but to sweep his clothes with both my shaking hands. “I’m really sorry” – I said. “I… I… I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry, I was just trying to turn back but you showed up.” My face becomes numb after receiving a big punch from his fist. “Are you saying that this is all my f*cking fault! Huh!? Man are you crazy!?” He exclaimed while grabbing my collar. “No…No… I mean nothing ‘bout that, what I’m trying to say is uhm… everything is an accident” – I answered. Another punch landed on my face and now I pray someone to help me.

I look around and see how people gathered. I saw them holding their phones and taking pictures instead of helping me, I knew no one intends to give a hand. They’re just a show off in social media, posting pictures of sympathy to the hurt ones but in reality they do nothing and ignore who suffer. My eyes are getting wet by tears as I was receiving punches and kicks. The music I was hearing then was now the noises I’m hearing from meticulous people. I tried to run but I tripped when I try. Oh, God please help me! I prayed over in my mind.

I was lying there, casually torn apart like a crumpled piece of paper. Dirt touches my face, my arms and I was totally ragged. There I saw someone. Someone who looks exactly to the one I know for long. That familiar face I knew from the start it was her. September was there. She’s giving me a strange look, tearing out of pity on me. I can’t blame her ‘cause she’s a girl. But I can’t stand the fact that she’s seeing me beaten up by ‘this’ guy. The guy who look so innocent when I first saw him. (Her ex lover John). He’s always beating me to death with his friends for blaming me of losing September. He said he’ll never forgive me, never. And now, I was worn out, my body can’t move and I’m about to lose my consciousness. So did I.



September 26, 2017.

“I’m sorry Beau, I’m so so sorry!I couldn’t help you.” – I heard September cries and blaming herself from what had happened. “Please wake up now, this is my entire fault.” She said while squeezing my hand. I open my eyes slowly and there I see white ceilings and curtains around. Am I hospitalized? That is the first question that comes from my mind. “You’re wake Beau! Do you recognize me? Do you know my name?” – September starts questioning while brushing her tears away. Smile skips from my lips. There she is, worriedly waiting for me to wake up. She said she’s really worried of what might happen to me that’s why she never leave me alone in this room.

The nurse came in to check out my condition. “Sir, it’s good that you’re finally awake. You’ve been lying there for almost a week. Exactly four days Sir.” – She said. I was shocked but I’m trying to be stoic. Four days? I turn a look on September and she nod. “Are you having a hard time Sir? We observed that your body is always tired and wounded that’s why you suffer a lot now.” The nurse asked and I couldn’t answer. “Where are your parents? Do you have someone to be here with you?” – She added.

My parents? I don’t know where they are, I haven’t heard of them. Never in my wildest dreams have I ever seen my parents. Maybe because they really hate me or was it because I’m not special to them. Or maybe, because I was just a fruit of their mistakes. Tears fall abruptly on my face. I always wanted parents, someone who would take care of me and call me son. I ever dream of them when I was seven, picking me up from school… that’s what I always see in movies. But that’s not going to happen because they already left me. They threw my life away to grow up on that orphanage just to suffer from hunger and beatings. Thankfully I am now that I escaped. I only have myself now… and September.

“My friend is here with me.” I answered. “Pardon?” – The nurse asked curiously as if something is wrong. “I said my friend September is here with me.” – I respond pointing where September is seated. The nurse gives me a strange look. “Sir are you fully awake now?” She asked. I don’t know why she asked that but I’m a little bit confused. The nurse goes out of the room and said she’d call a doctor to look for me. I don’t know what’s wrong so I just sat there on the bed and turn my face to September.

After a while, the doctor came and asked me a whole lot of questions. He asked me everything about me… and September. There’s many thoughts forming on my mind while the doctor asked things which is I think not necessary for my well being. Why isn’t he asking me about what I feel, If I’m okay or not… He’s just asking about how I met September and how long we’d known each other. I’m getting more confused right now.

After questioning me, the nurse gave the doctor a phone. I heard her say it was a video of me when I was found on the street unconscious. Because of my big ears, I heard their conversations aloud. I rise up and took the phone on the doctor’s hand. “Sir no - ” the doctor shockingly said  when I grabbed the phone. What kind of joke are they doing? I look closely to the video. I found myself there lying and crying. I was lying there as if someone is beating me. “It was you sir.” Said the nurse. I’m still in process when I watched the clip. Is this really me? I swear John is beating me that time. Where is he? Why isn’t he there? I think this video is manipulated. They cut john out to this video just to make fun of me. “Sir, if you really wanted overcome your fears, you should cooperate with us and have a session with a psychiatrist.” The doctor says. “September is only your creation sir. Maybe your past is something you couldn’t forget. Or maybe sir it was in your genes. But we can solve them.” He added.

What? Even September? But she’s here with me? I know she’s real. I searched the room and found that September isn’t on her seat anymore. What the hell? This is a bluff. This is all not happening. I’m still dreaming am I? I shook my head again and again and started to cry. Flash backs starts to flash like a kaleidoscopic memories. Then, I remember what happened three years ago. I had a car accident with September after running away from her ex lover John. September asked me to go far away from John because she really wanted to forget. But a big truck shown up and crashes into the car we were riding that night. September died. I barely survive but I wish I died.

After my recovery, John starts to trigger something on his coat. It was his madness over me. He blames me for everything so he tried to **** me. But he never succeeds. He was jailed after committing that serious crime. He is sentenced for 5 years and I was left here haunted. I now realized I was stuck into my darkest dreams. That which hurt, all my life until now is just my creation and nothing is real. So I strongly accept the treatment. They told me it was months or years to overcome my illness. Schizophrenia, that’s what it is called. They say I made realistic illusions because I was guilty for something, I was scared, I was scarred and severely damaged by the past.

I realized, autumn is a season for my fallout, and now winter is coming, I have to face the cold situation of my life. I have to overcome my fears like surviving through an avalanche. This is only one of the seasons that I have to pass.

...

December 13, 2018

Dark room, cold floor and walls painted black. I realized I was living there for a long time. Wanting a friend but no one to call; I live my life alone and never had a home. I was born to this world without any clue of what my purpose is. Only sorrow is what I've known. But now, I rise. I walked through the window and put the curtains up. I finally overcome my fears. The cold of December doesn’t make me shiver anymore. I’m at peace now with nothing to worry. I hope it could last.
This story actually shows that everyone has an out seasoned experiences and that's where we get all the courage to live on and be change in a good way.
Brian Oarr Jun 2012
I cannot restore the lakes that teemed with fish,
nor the maples cultivated by the Mohawk,
the Adirondacks now more remote than boyhood,
a lost dark conversation with jejune oblivion.

Events became the storyline of my life,
and events were always stronger than resolve.
My journey took me inward without time schedule,
dredged up expediencies as layovers.

Still, I felt drawn to the people,
who bejeweled my dreams in neuron flashes,
became therapy, billboards along the escape route.
Turned out that vital knowledge would suffice.
Sammie Aug 2015
We range from mindful decision to mindless diffusion
Marching in step to others' lives
Stray from the path and follow a new storyline
Write your book creating your own demise
LJW Oct 2015
I say, "tell your story!"
No matter how many times it's been heard
Refuse the critics dogeared comments
about broken records,
get out of your rut,
let it go.

Our story is our pleasure
our experience of breath
Lived despite the presence
or non-presance of tragic moments.

Cut foot
bad catch
wrong number
missed bus

small instances of life:
lost job
low pay
Lonely Sundays
no friends.

Let me know, tell me each minute.
Share.
robin Jul 2013
there is no such thing as an antihero,
only a villain
who has found an exuse,
an antagonist who can speak more prettily than
all the others
who can lie holes straight through
the hero's
heart,
find their place in the universe
and blot it out on the map because
the universe
does not tend towards anything
but solitude.

you will find yourself all alone.

you will find yourself all
alone
and you can snap the neck of every doll you own but
despair will never be anything more than
an unrequited love, an
attachment that you never grew out of, a
high school crush that you stapled to your heart so as you grew it was like
a gastric bypass
you cannot hold as much love in your heart
as your mother
said you could
but you can kiss and sigh and with every moue you'll wonder just
why
your chest feels fit to burst when you get any deeper than
touch
heart fit to rupture you are the main villain
of every book
i've read
the antagonist in every story you are
the angry girl whose doll parts
lay in pieces
at her feet
whose bomb will detonate if you get too close
{the character i could relate to the most the character i hated the most the character
i talked to whenever i could and
memorized every line to replay, god
i hate
the way you speak
and i want
to hear
it more}
i ripped out your staples and added my own.
{despair will never reciprocate but
i understand you i
do
because we are the same and i hate you because
you hate yourself
and i could give you nightmares every night and
listen to your motives
every
morning
'people are disgusting'
you said
as if it was
a revelation}
you're not ****** up, just out of luck
because four-leaf clovers can't survive droughts.
you are seventyeight percent water
and every drop you spent on
drowning
the background characters
and every doll on your bedroom floor
{i love the way you cry when you laugh because every time
i hope
that one, that one tear
is the final drop wrung from the shroud
of a sailor a burial at sea
and you will crumble
into
dust}
you angry girl your eyes
are a yellowing bruise on the storyline
your backstory is a rash
on the protagonist's hands
and all your inner demons told you you were not alone but
you explained them away and
appeals to pity left you empty.
i will rip out all your staples i
will make you
seventyeight percent
saltwater
my heart is a mirror you can find yourself there and
reassemble yourself
from all your broken parts
i will be the blueprint from which
you rebuild
yourself

{a story is nothing
without
a villain}
Words shape my action-
forward
but is it really me?
AW May 2013
Remember, being young, you used to love those posters
We’d look at them for hours, got addicted to the game
Of trying to be the one, who found the most new details
We searched for all the features that none had seen before
And every next disclosure would shed a whole new light
On the storyline we thought had nothing new in store

Where along the way did you lose your sense of wonder?
What was it that blinded the eye for detail that you had?
Was it time that rusted your fixation on what’s known yet
Was it life that happened and robbed your curious mind?
‘Cause though still friends forever, the magic slowly faded
The picture got familiar as if holding no more surprise

Now just take a moment and imagine that we’re standing
Looking at that poster that you still know by heart
The one that tells the story of two best friends forever
And spells their lives out since the time that they were young
All the ties that bind them, the obstacles along the road
All the precious moments that gave colour to their lives

Imagine that this picture, etched inside you memory
Holds one little detail that you've never seen before
Would its revelation bring back your imagination
And hold the hidden power to change the story line?
Would the boy hidden inside accept the great adventure
That a few small brush strokes invite him to pursue?

This time, let me tell you the thing that you’ve been missing
The detail that’s been overlooked in all the years gone by
The painter of this story line that sketched our lives together
Signed this valued work of art with the truest signature
If you’d open up your eyes and see the artist’s message
You’d read there in my handwriting “please let me be yours”
AM Apr 2016
the present he gave me
represents himself in my eyes;
a storyline I've always wanted to read,
the mystery on each page
I've been dying to unfold,
and the love in every word
I've been wishing upon a star for
Julia Hunter Jan 2015
What I am, I don’t know.
What I do know, however, is what you are.
My eyes have traveled over your person for hours, and I have studied your intellect.
I observe, I don’t make conclusions –
for that would be a sabotaged investigation of the potentiality of your existence.
The ‘you’ I speak of is nobody at all really,
it is the world around me in all of its embodiment.
I soak in the culture as I live amidst the chaos,
and my mind becomes oversaturated with sensation.
In San Francisco, yes, San Francisco, the sweet smell of diversity,
the push of movement walking up Powell Street and the creak
of the old elevator in Rasputin Music.
On top of a hill in Indian valley, a moment of freedom –
the air and I, we hold hands.
The wind and I, we run along picking daisies off their stems
until only the unwanted ones are left standing.
In the middle of a crowd in Golden Gate Park, waiting for the band to appear onstage;
I don’t know his name or hers, but they are very close to me.
Sitting here, on my bed,
flipping pages and pages as books progress;
if only my own storyline were half as intriguing.  
Way up here in the air, this plane’s motion makes me tremble.
Occasionally I am distracted by the beauty of what’s outside the tiny window,
and the feeling of omnipresence I attain pushes past my anxiety;
the world is below me and I am defying its weight.
In precalculus class, I reach a strange state of tranquility;
I can finally revert to the robotic motion of pencil and calculator,
a momentary lapse from the stress of the day, and the world.
All in all and end in end,
poems are poems but it mostly depends,
everything is contingent,
and it’s all ambiguous of course.
That may be description of the world – or rather, one of myself.
~
Dear Nest made by golden strings,
Remarkable Guardian, dazzling Thunder,
I don’t want you to watch me burn.
but, I do know, that one way or another...
It will be in your arms that I will overturn.

Glide through those adorable winds.
Embellish that Sky with your finest colour.
She wafts well your powerful wings,
With real echoes as a celestial lover.

Dear immortal and treasured Valentine,
Irreplaceable you were and always will be.
Blissful new edges frost our noble Storyline,
Royal Blessings to you, New Melody.

~

© Christina Philipe
g Oct 2013
You're breaking on your camera hand. Haven't got a leg to stand on.
You tell me
you're making me a colour with your shorthand.
Dropping parts of your mind behind you and I can't pick them up, I can't follow you round anymore.
Kid, you're shaking on the stage again
explain that you can't write this down anymore
and that everything inside your head is a storm.
And I just can't tell you.
I don't have the guts to tell you
that I still smell him on my hair on days when I don't think about you now.
But I can't tell you what I'm thinking
like how you're so wrapped up in your own broken strings that you're not getting me right anymore.
You're not getting me right anymore.

These things I lost down in my chest:
how you made this body your chalkboard fourteen days before we even spoke,
and I don't know what you're leaving with. I can't find the words to leave you with.
Tornado hands. Texas lungs. How this world made you a storyline.
You're an underage drunk on a school night.
Stop dropping yourself I can't hold you up anymore.
This is not a hold up.
This is you forgetting to ask about yourself.
Here are all the letters I never sent you
take them out of me, stop making me write you down I can't write you down anymore please scratch yourself out.

You once asked me if I felt it when you woke up in the middle of the night across all those miles, I told you:
you're a church bell in a hurricane
stuck under all the folded over pages I left you with, and I'm leaving you on a Sunday,
just like all those characters you left sawn off.
And I just want to ask you how many times I have to break myself apart before I piece back whole, and I realise
that we've got nothing left going for us anymore.
Your chipped teeth under my tongue telling me "stop apologising for yourself,"
ripping the keys off a typewriter just take everything I've got.

You can have my apologies love.
You can have my best friend sitting on the tracks.
You can take me whole, take me home.
You're a boarded window, nothing disclosed,
"get away from me".
Candlelight through the gaps on a Saturday night in December.
We're home alone again.
Home alone again.
Bee Jul 2018
she whispers poetic metaphors
comprised of beautiful words
into thirsty ears
and watches as hungry eyes
become enveloped with stars
as they imagine the beauty
of her love

she tells them
¨he is the earth
and i am his moon
orbiting around him¨
orbiting for him

but
you see
an orbital´s path
is not paved by love
for she often asks herself
if she was really in love at all
or was it simply
his proximity
which so forcefully
pulled her in

for closeness
is what tore the moon
from her own established path
amongst the stars
when she encountered
the inescapable gravity
of another celestial body

the moon
diminutive and frail
in comparison
had no choice
but to succumb to the earth´s captivation
and redirect her path
to assume a new orbit
around a new focus

instead of progressing forward
she now knows nothing
but the same hideous loop
and like a scratched record
it repeats itself
over
         and over
                           and over
                                            and over
again

and every taste of freedom
simply brings her careening even quicker
around the next corner
until she becomes
all too familiar
with the same series of events

so she convinces herself
she's fallen in love
then that she's fallen
back out of it again
except
she hasn't really fallen anywhere
her mind simply adapts
a new narration
for the same spiral storyline

she never really loved him
for while they were close
momentum prevented their hearts
from ever truly touching
(for if the moon and the earth
drifted too close
they would collide)
and she will never know
now that she has become entranced
by a new planetary orbit

and as she tells the story
of how the moon
fell for the earth
the paradox of orbitals
was the perfect disguise
for her sinister love


x.
why is it so much harder to fall out of love, than it is to fall in it?
Jess Hays Jul 2016
Second year at a new school
I should be accustomed to it
But the fact is, most of them are strangers.

Second year should mean a second chance
But her friendship ring is leaving its mark on my hand
And my young years are drifting away at the sand

It's high tide...
To resurrect my mind into this new time
But new is different and different is unknown
And the unknown is scary.

I don't know how to think beyond
Those who are now distant characters in my storyline.
I'm hesitating..
Because new is different and thus unknown..
And I'm not sure if I can trust what I don't know.
Andrew Parker May 2014
Never Have I Ever (Slam Poem)
5/27/2014

Having a best friend makes you think of weird things.

Stuff like:
Getting slapped in the face with a fish is more about smell than texture.
13 nights in a row drinking isn't so bad if you save cash not using mixers.
A stranger hitting on you is a storyline for tomorrow's lunch.
Redecorating my room is just for you, nobody else will see it.
You asked me to go shop with you, are you saying I need new clothes?
Crushing Ritalin in a bathroom, because we stayed up 'til 6am before work.
Pooping is like extra time in the day set aside to call you on the phone.
Why do we play Never Have I Ever when we already know the ever's?
People think we constantly say inside jokes, but we're just telepathic.
I get into shape before you visit town, because you're my best wingman.
If we ever stop being friends, I really hope you don't blackmail me.
Can I designate you to speak at my wedding, babyshower, and funeral?
... or is it too soon to do that?

Losing friends can make you think of weird things, I imagine.

Stuff like:
1. I should stop ordering carne asada fries - I can't finish a whole portion.
2. I keep my curtains closed - I know your car won't randomly be outside.
3. Having lunch alone ***** - I shared a crazy story with the cashier today.
4. I take my poops with the stereo on now - I never could go in silence.
5. My voicemail inbox is full - I can't delete any when your voice pops up.
6. Maybe I should call you.
7. I need to talk to you.
8. I wish I could call you.
9. If only you'd come visit town.
10. Maybe I should go visit the cemetery.
11. I have a new least favorite Never Have I Ever.
12. Never Have I Ever had a best friend die.

And I hope I never ever will put that finger down.
Smoot Feb 2011
Checking out seems easy compared to playing the cards life delt me with.
Take this sip and drink to the sadness im blessed with.
Kiss this **** thinking Im smiling for your kind lies or your rotten slices of "im your friend" pie.
Feed me the truth you choke on or the reality that made you shoot coke to forget.
Give me the lines that your heart cant beat
give me the music your feet cant seem to keep up with.
I want the ***** truth that gives you cavities to speak.
That mud storyline that locks you behind bars of judgement because I can no longet hear that bs the media tries to force into now dead ears.
No fears just through with the emotions that gave you power. face life liar this relationship
is no longer ours. This you and me has been sour no punch line just this I flushed ish like this now how bout you spoon feed yourself that.
Amuse someone with the facts, you tried beating my dreams down with hollow bats.
swallow that and choke on spite for this the last time, I'm over it.

— The End —