I actually thought you cared.
NightmaresI know you, I walked with you
Once upon a dream…
Actually, it was a nightmare-
And I was running.
ParachutesI’d like to think you’re here
lying next to me
instead of buried
while we listen
to the angels-
in my mind you’re
in the sky,
dropping like a stone
in the river-
truth is, I thought
it'd hurt more.
but falling isn't
until you have to get up
and walk away.
guess we're both staying here
for a while-
don't want my bones to hurt
as much as my heart.
1.They say you shouldn't drink with Death,
and yet I find myself pouring
another glass of amber liquid.
She's quiet, my companion;
doesn't talk much.
It's strange to see her in person
after hearing all the tales
and fables meant to scare
little children and to
put grown men in their places.
She's different than I expected--
lighter, not quite so hidden behind
a gray cloak or embedded in the shadows.
I ask her why she has graced me
with her presence, and she turns her
hooded head in my direction.
Long ivory fingers clutch the glass
and I notice her nails, like mine,
have been gnawed as far down as possible.
She doesn't answer my question--
not that I really thought she would.
The flickering candle between us
melts ever so slowly
as the small flame arches and twists.
It casts a glow on both our faces--
I am surprised to find that,
though not beautiful,
Death is far from the monstrosity
people have made her out to be.
I feel a sort of sympathy for her then.
What would it be like to never
Our Forgotten LanguageMy love for you is cursive,
a dying art that will ultimately
No more swirls will be etched
upon this heart--
no more ink will stain
Soon it will be indecipherable
to all of those who try
to read it.
The letters will no longer
connect to one another;
instead, they'll fill
with spaces and blanks spots.
In the end, the only ones
who will be able to translate
the lost language of our love
are you and I.
And even then, we might forget
what each character
once so proudly stood for.
After - AfterWhat happens after Happily Ever After?
After the credits roll off the screen
After the last page is turned
After they whisper I love you?
What happens when the “happily” is taken out of Ever After?
When only two words remain
-the two words that scare most people to death-
When the applause dies off
When there’s nothing left to cheer for?
What happen when the “ever” is taken out of After?
When there’s nothing left to ask
And no one left to answer?
pedantiche compliments god too much when he traces
my hips, tells me i taste like guilt and
cinnamon and says
i keep pushing you away but you keep
i don't show him the indentations his fingers
leave in my bones, don't tell him how
evolution keeps calling to remind me of my
expiration date that's fast
just lay where i am and ignore
his praises of god,
wait til evolution saunters by
to take me off this goddamn
shelf where she'll replace me
with something better-
he's walking the lines of my body like a tightrope
and i hope to god he falls.
one night standInspiration kicked me out
of bed, threw my
said, I'll call you-
and moved on
to the next.
9.That moment when you think there's so much more to write
and then you realize
synecdochemy mother's gotten fat off of my promises,
empty calories that just go straight to her
i made a meal out of truth once, set it down
for both of us to eat. she cleaned
her plate, asked for dessert-
threw it up later that night, said she forgot
how thin these walls are,
took the liberty of damning me to hell before
slamming the door.
god says to stop feeding her bullshit
from a silver spoon, tells me
you're so full of shit, your eyes are brown
every time i try to explain.
he tells me to leave so i go home
and pick my prayers from the pile under
get some elmer's clue and hope to hell
I can't breathe no moreThe whispering wind drops off memories on the road
Smells of winter.
Foggy trees, hidden flowers, fleeting scenery, everything blurs
The maze of my brain.
Shivering as if I was drunk with grief
Human wreck stares at me, hollow gaze
My past lives are hung on the wall of oblivion
Reborn from grief.
Eternal darkness reign above me, on this oppressive night
Snows of coal.
The image of your grave stuck in my head
As dead as you.
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do
because being okay is expected,
if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,
what can we do to be okay?
we can scribble illegible words
on a canvas made for by painters
masquerading as notebook paper,
and hope that we can sell the burn
of stinging emotions for some paper.
but the funny thing about that thought?
is that american money isn’t paper,
it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.
so even the money you'd earn from your misery,
isn't anything you can write on
when you realize your money isn't
made to heal. even if it does talk.
but it never really ever says enough, does it?
But that's okay...
being okay is the hardest thing we do
because sticks and stones do break bones,
but you can hide the scars
with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.
or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.
words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.
and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,
the way your
teethmy mother used to say,
"never fall in love with something
that can leave you behind."
now I understand, now I know
that humans were
given legs for a reason,
that moving on
is a state of mind on migration.
if I told you I loved you,
would you cut out my tongue?
I can still hear your voice when you said
you could never love anyone else,
and now all I can think is
The Curse of the HearseOh Christmas dinner, oh winged beast,
Why must you be an appalling feast?
Your gravy chunks like small intestines,
Devouring you my last intention
Oh honey ham, oh deviled eggs,
You are the devil, you laugh as I beg!
Please let me go, let me do as I please,
For nothing is worse than moldy cheese!
Oh pumpkin pudding, oh apple pie,
Your cherries wither like severed eyes!
Chocolate cakes reek of putrid smells—
Lest it isn’t chocolate, but something else…
“Mind your manners, eat your food!”
Says your aunt, her knife at you
After the meal, I was several pounds thinner;
Even Hell shivers at the hearse’s dinner!
you can't catch her now.winter welcomes her,
who ever said
coffins are just
for the dead?
she has never
but one day
Why Aren't There More Girls in Video Games?Please keep in mind that this is mostly coming from my perspective as a gamer, but I will not deny also comes from my perspective as a female. I am fully aware that men are overly sexualized and stereotyped in the media as well. I am also aware that gaming is a heavily male dominant form of entertainment so I can understand why some things are the way there are. However, due to the dramatic increase of female players and females joining the industry, I felt that this is a relevant topic to discuss. I ask that you read this with an open mind and try to understand my frustration with this.
Hey, guys! So I just wanna talk about something that's been on my mind lately.
I'm actually working an assignment for one of my classes-create a persuasive speech on any topic. Well, I chose female representation in video games.
I love a lot of video games (a LOT). Games like BioShock, Legend of Zelda, Halo, Dark Souls, Papo and Yo, Amnesia: The Dark Descent, The Wolf Among Us, World o
headsmeni am a satyr:
i am drowning in Styx &
melting my mind into divinity.
victorious viceshe called herself "Victorious", and
that's all she's ever been.
i call her "Vice";
she grips my throat scarlet
in the night,
my own personal hang-master.
Vice is the poster child,
"looks can be deceiving"
no one ever sees her.
they see me instead.
i see you're doing well.
i can fix that.
my nails are panic-
and your skin is soft,
sweetheart, you'll bleed.
let me embroider
your arms with mottled
like those old drapes
you try to keep clean
just like your record.
dollface, here we go again.
my favorite part of your freak show
is watching you play "normal".
twist your scarred,
because you're okay
that's such a lie.
(F/n) held onto him; not with her hands or voice, but with the absolute power of her eyes. Those eyes that always displayed whatever emotion she was feeling in a moment. Always observant of things that should have been beyond her hope of grasping; always seeing past the surface to what was housed underneath, always seeking out those who needed her help.
The windows to her soul were (e/c); it wasn’t the color that made them shine, but rather the feeling that was incessantly building up behind them. Even at times when she was dulled or tired they shone bright . . . Even now when she was being desecrated, (F/n)’s eyes remained full and beautiful.
Severus Snape had been careful to keep his face passive as the Dark Lord tortured her, with more foul spells than could be named, but internally he trembled. For more years than he could count, the Potions Master had played the faithful spy and turncoat. He had given
BlanksYou wake in a small white room.
A small room with unlimited size.
With walls that move
But not to close on you.
The walls are clean.
The room is bright
The walls are serene.
The room is blight
You waver to your feet
In a distance you see
But hardly clearly.
A silent baby.
You make your way to the silent infant
It lay there, and remained benevolent
Spread from the lump of flesh on the ground
A brilliant crimson spread without a sound
The trail of pigmentation extended to the indefinite finite edge of the floor.
You trace it, and with your hands hooked behind your back, you skip alongside it.
The trail ended
And on the cue of your heartbeat
An explosion of red unveiled the crouched figure of a lady.
And a wall.
You lifted her chin
To see a malevolent grimace
You lower your eye to her ruptured flesh
Dropping her head, free to sway left and right.
You look back
Back down the trail of red
Which now just extends
You turn to face the women again.
Who blended into the