[x]

Shyi. You say that there's nothing to see, no story behind your walls of whitewash. You tell me everything without saying anything, because we never speak.

ii. You never stop running, and your floor will never be my ceiling. Anyway, you'd never fall through. (They say I'm a little too good at this. I mean, I'm terrible at letting go. Maybe it's best I'll never catch you.) It's such a shame, seeing as I've been practicing.

iii. This is simple, unadulterated observation. I watch, you move. My gaze is objective; you're a work of art. (Or is it piece of work?)

iv. They say you're scarred but you hardly seem the broken type. They say you'd let me

Our FaithOur Faith is the ironic nonbeliever
in anything beyond this earthly flesh.
She writes about the future as a lost bohemian utopia,
a place her starving readers need,
we who have known
in our deepest parts a feeling
like forgetting how to climb stairs
mid-step,
we who have dreamt of mattresses
on deflated inflatable beds, weekend eyes gummy,
mouths sticky and full of a taste we can't spit out
while we wait for more time
and for the train to arrive, finally.

Our Faith writes a someday like cheesecake in our mouths,
thick and real as childhood dreams of flying,
and when we're waiting for nights of humid neon freedom,
waiting to r

Serenadesand on the coldest nights I remember you

how you spilled ink across my sides
sliding along skin with each tide ebbing my spine
you followed its curve with yours
pulling chords from somewhere between
heart and heat

depths blind to me

I watched you float
stretching across my mind as shadows lined your back
you wore the strands a feathered cloak
sifting my palms through silk and sand
and I couldn't stand to see anymore

whispered at the precipice

you were the siren with the silent voice but I heard
your breath and beat
the soft serenade of your fingers tipping
through the hollow caverns in my chest
thinking how I wish

Finding myselfIt grabbed me by my hair and yanked me out of my reality. It came so suddenly, so surprisingly, like it had been waiting to strike. I'd been hit with confusion and misunderstanding, overwhelmed by the emotions that followed, coming from deep within.

I fought it, caught in a tangle of denial and hate for myself. Everything would be so much more complicated, worsening the current situation even more. Something like this would evidently put everything to a stop, but it would never stop it completely. Lost, I struggled to pick up the pieces I'd hastily left behind. Often questioned were my quizzical actions I displayed, the anger I f

PsychosisYou're more myself than I
Fingers searing my flesh
Restraints cling to my skin
As endless mirages entice

Fingers searing my flesh
Like the subtle whisk of a scalpel
As endless mirages entice
Begging for the slipknot

Like the subtle whisk of a scalpel
Bouncing, twisting in menacing sport
Begging for the slipknot
He adorns his crimson necklace

Bouncing, twisting in menacing sport
Horrors chirp in melding solace
He adorns his crimson necklace
Obscenely hail this curtain call

Horrors chirp in melding solace
Now black pavement guides us
Obscenely hail this curtain call
Begging the engine cease

Now black pavement guides us
Lig

velvetgirldear velvetgirl--

i find i barely know you these days.

lucifier hovers behind your eyelashes;
and i cry out because you're losing it
you're not that little sunshine-glitter
girl i remember, no stars in your soul.

you're cracked and you don't notice;
you're cracked and you won't care;
you're cracked and there are schisms
running through your skin, baby run

run away before there's nothing left
of that innocent child i called to
across the street, so very long ago.

i don't know if we'll survive us,
but darling, always remember this;
i will always adore you for staying
when no-one else had the courage to.

let's end this the way we began it

Fault LinesSo this is the end.

I don't think it's worth writing this. Not to you. You've done so much for me, but you've done so much more to me. Sun-freckled days were interrupted by staccato periods of dark, pinprick anger. That's fine. Be angry. But not at me. I can't fix my father or your mother or you. Nor would I want to. And I sure as hell won't be fixing myself.

I like to think that getting away will be worth it. I will ride off into a golden sunset of friends and school and life; you will stay here and bow your head and change your ways. I will come home and you will cluck over me and feed me until I burst and we will laugh again. I will thin

fat.funny how
society says shrinking
to less
will make us more.
cruel how
we believe it.
today i ate a
pack of oreos.
as i chewed
the hard cookie
and swallowed
the sweet filling
i felt
myself
bloat
and e x p a n d
bigger and
BIGGER
until i could
no longer fit
into myself.

today i ate a
pack of oreos.
but what will it be
tomorrow?
a cracker?
a celery stick?
meals getting smaller
until they are only snacks
snacks getting smaller
until they are nothing.
funny how
i hate this system
of winning
by losing
until you are zero.
cruel how
i want this, too.

metamorphosesif i wished, i could easily divide my life
into two acts:
before you and after you.

i might like to write my life as
a shakespearean play, with you as the hero
or as an epic poem,
just as ovid and virgil once did.

my story may not be as intricately woven
as the tapestries of the iliad or the aeneid
or even woven at all—
perhaps the silk worms have not yet spun its threads
and it is untouched, unsullied by human hands

perhaps its time has yet to come

i can split the play of my life into two acts:
one before i met you
and one after.

before is punctuated with sadness. drops of laughter scatter across an empty horizon,
fleet

senselesslisten for the
sound of light,
a luminous
hum it could be
the last
thing you ever
taste -

let the noise pervade
your lips tasting
the vibration of
decibels,
unfurling
bitter screams;

listen for the
expanse of
linoleum, cold
floor fingers wafting the
perfume of floorboards

blue eyes gripping
the grass
intertwined,
wisps of wistful
gazes searching for
remnants of the scent
to pool in your
palms

reach for
the white
noise
static scatter -
electric mind reaching
for reason, for
sense

the writer's manifesto.hear me.
hear these wayward words that shatter bated breath,
that eat me alive and leave me black.
charred.
singed alive by this heat, this hatred that is poured across my tongue in liquid fire.
i am burning in [hell] heaven.
and i cannot feel anything.
tell me.
( is this how it feels? )
how it feels to be a martyr for words, a martyr to those who speak when no one is listening, or when no one cares to.
say it to my face, spit it at my sickled toes.
leave your hastily scribbled slanders over my dead body, that's okay. [it's alright.]
you're just branding yourself.

look at me.
what am i to you?
my pallid face is but a baby's b

I am the WriterI am a protagonist,
An antagonist,
A minor supporting character

I am the investigator,
The liberator,
The prophetic narrator

I am your hero
Your villain,
Your forgotten sidekick

The creator,
The destroyer,
I am the writer

Felonious MonkNo disclaimers.

Please try this at home.
I bet you'll like it.

The same old exiles to haunted houses.

Floors as slick as Seattle streets,
You are a champion
On the sock-skating circuit,
And I am Tanya fucking Harding.

Simple pleasures for the sadist.

Cutting, carving
Figure eights into the floors.
Sideways.

Even beautiful people look better with the lights out.
Except the night lights.

Didn't I tell you I'm afraid of the dark?

It's bad, I know.
But it could be worse.

It could be photophobia.

It could be rabies.
We may be strung out like research monkeys,
But damn we look cool.

The best part of exile
Is taking in strays.

i stayed home mondayi stayed home monday because i wanted to cry and write broken poetry of how my ribs are no fortress composed of marrow but shards of memories cross-stitched to spine.

i decided sometime by mid-morning all i wanted was for you to encircle me and whisper gentle words across my shoulder that would dip around my lower-back and find home in my chest.

i envisioned cardiac surgeons tangling their hands in my thoracic cavity and struggling to find my heart, but only coming back to an empty waiting room with scattered slips of paper detailing a midnight heist.

as i mouthed words scratched into a bathroom stall, i hoped each consonant would tumble f

Bloodied LipsYou told me you loved me
And it broke my heart
Why tell me of something I never understood
Why tell me it's over?

It died in the rain
Among wilting flowers
And dying leaves
My words never leaving me

I didn't know how to tell you
And you never asked
But I fought with myself
And you just smiled and told me to relax

I didn't know
I never saw
But I cried and never stopped

Something inside me was,
Broken, and
Gone

I never stopped
Pictures of you flying through my mind
I tried, but I never stopped
Tears swallowing my everything

The words, still hanging
From my bloodied lips
You told me you loved me
And I ate your heart, re

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Oil Spills and Fire AlarmsTruth is the fragile delusion of faith in this synthetic dream of reality.
I'm not sleeping; I just don't exist.

When the plane crashed, it was to the sound of girls laughing.
It always seems they are taking something away;
The fuselage was found to contain only feathers
And the details of an oil spill.

Still, I can be sure that poetry is a measure of instability,
Which provides a count of the number of phone lines I've cut.
Stripped bare,
Cables forming a map to the people who said they loved me.
Wires stretched and aching like memory,
Linked by a magnetism that should not exist.

Doctor, I think there is something wrong.
She ke

Icarus DreamingWe got to talking about Quarks,
Which is effectively talking about nothing.

The earth was blistering,
Bare feet touching the scathing soil
Like pebbles flung out to water.

Everything was so hilarious,
Laughing till the sides split open
To reveal the lifeless inhabitants
Of skeletal birdcages.

We can't stop running,
Else this game will turn into a reenactment
Of Icarus's dreams,
Our minds folding in
-Falling in –
With molten wings of paper.

So we play hop-scotch on the minefield,
-Faster now!
anticipating the fantastic fireworks
of our own demise.
Laughing like demons, or children,
Or both.

I've been reading about lo

Dead TreesDo we idolize one another?
The critical stage has been reached,
This is the part where we pretend not to hear,
Pressing hands to our ears to contain ignorance.
The words are carefully misconstrued,
Meaning trying to claw out within the constraints
Constructed by a girl who can't decide whether she wants to be seen
Or not.

How sad, that I have come to rely on thunderstorms,
That, even so, we continue to die with gusto.

For some inexplicable reason, there are always white birds overhead,
Wings whispering gentle obscenities.
The trees are growing down from the ceiling;
The roots get entangled in her hair and the telephone wires,
Cl

Six Word Story 2She still sleeps in his shirt.

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Sightless Blues

by ~Scout73, Dec 22, 2011, 10:42:58 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

We have found new ways to address light
And the answer was not 42.

There used to be a story
-Do you remember?-
About the propagation of sounds she made in silence
And the music that they play when people are dying.
A soundtrack composed of a spectrum of all blues,
Dripping with ultramarine and violins.

There was something about broken bones too,
But that never seems to convey pain the way it used to.

It's a pity really;
That we can't see what we hear
Without tearing our eyes out;
Begging for an end to the melody you made in Autumn,
When guns sang about blood.

And it's sad too,
That this is always about you.
The words slipping into white noise.

Sightless Bluesby ~Scout73

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Haha! It is not pages and pages long!

Merry Christmas everyone! Though this piece isn't all that Christmas-y. Oh well, I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Have a great day!

For the WrittenRevolution
[link]

1) What would you change? (be honest, there are things here which require fixing)
2) Favourite line/ stanza? (My all-time favourite question)
3) Is it too graphic? Should I tone down the blood and gore?
4) What do you get out of it? What does the piece say to you?

And lastly 5) How do I link this to the contest thing? I know it said link with a note, but I'm not too smart with these things, so could someone pretty please explain it in slow, small words to me. I was going with Crossing Borders. You know, between senses and imagination/reality. Thanks.

~~love 0 0~~

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~anapests-and-ink Jan 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

1. (kinda ties in to #3) The only thing I'd change is "Without tearing our eyes out"--not because of the content (it's an important line), but because "tearing our eyes out" is such a familiar phrase; it doesn't fit with the originality of the rest of the poem.

2. I love "A soundtrack composed of a spectrum of all blues,
Dripping with ultramarine and violins." Especially "ultramarine and violins". There's that play on sound ('violins', 'violence'), and it's an incredible image. Love it.

3. (see #1)

4. I'm not entirely sure. I see a couple different stories, and a bunch of incredible images, but not really one thing in particular. Which is what I like in a poem.

~Scout73 Jan 10, 2012 Student Writer

In hindsight, that does seem weak. Thank you. I will try to find a more evocative word for rip.
I'm glad you enjoyed it, and thank you most sincerely for your help.

*UnspecifiedUnknown Jan 10, 2012 Writer

^{this was a tragic, beautiful read.

"We have found new ways to address light
And the answer was not 42." - what a brilliant way to start off this poem! i must admit,
it did make me giggle.

"There used to be a story
-Do you remember?-
About the propagation of sounds she made in silence
And the music that they play when people are dying.
A soundtrack composed of a spectrum of all blues,
Dripping with ultramarine and violins." - this, gave me goosebumps. rings so much t r u t h

all in all, a job well done.
keep up the great work}

~Scout73 Jan 10, 2012 Student Writer

I'm glad you liked it. Giving goosebumps is what I strive for!

~takemyplanet Jan 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

1) I don't care much for the hyphens surrounding line 4 in the second stanza. I understand the effect you were going for, but it would come across just as well without them. The line breaks seem somewhat unnecessary as well.

2) Surprisingly, I like the third stanza the best. Those two lines by themselves manage to communicate a rather profound concept.

3) Not at all. It's pretty tame compared to some other poems I read on this website.

4) The imagery and vocabulary you utilize spark a plethora of images in my mind's eye, but it seems to be about change for the most part.

Overall, I really enjoyed this. I'll go ahead and watch you to see what else you come up with.

~Scout73 Jan 7, 2012 Student Writer

I'm glad you liked it. I apologize for the excessive use of line breaks. I try to make what really should be prose look like poetry

Someone has seen through me!
Thank you for your honesty. It is greatly appreciated.

~takemyplanet Jan 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Lol. You owe me no apologies. Those were merely suggestions I was offering. Like I said, I rather enjoyed it so I'll stick around and read your other work

~MusesDaughter Jan 4, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I like this. I like the flow and the description. I love the reference to 42. I like visceral work, so the gore etc is no problem for me, because it is not just random, it has meaning to the work.

~Scout73 Jan 4, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you very much!

The emoticon might be over the top, but I think it is too adorable.

~xDeadxNxGonex Jan 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I know that's somethings I wouldn't mind being changed, but I can't figure them out....I still really like the poem though! My favorite stanza has got to be the second one. It has a lot of imagery and sound to it, in my opinion. And I don't see how it's graphic at all, honestly.

To me, the piece seems to be about a conversation between people who used to be friends, but now are bitter towards each other. I know it's not a conversation, but it seems like someone if reflecting upon that other person and how it used to be good between them, but then the mellow got harshed. May be I'm getting that only because it reflects a lot of things happening in my life, who knows, lol.

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