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Will You Marry MeYour face is smooth
like the edge of a freshly wiped blade
Your skin is warm
like teardrops in a steel morgue
Your hands are soft
like linen sheets over pale, cool remains
Your hair falls to your shoulders
with the accuracy of a weighty noose
Your stride is as confident
as a blood-spattered Gladiator
Your legs send my heart
into a state of hysteria with an assassin's efficiency
Never have I wanted so badly
something so fearsome
Now tell me, my darling,
Fixing the Bulb I finally admit it as l'm trying to nap in the hallway outside my Creative Writing class: the last two hours have been no fun.
I’d set the time aside and labeled it “Free Time” as opposed to “Writing Time”, which would have made writing feel more like a must-do instead of a fun, voluntary activity. But even after finding the comfiest-looking chair in the library, sitting in it, and pulling up a blank Word document (as appealing as blank Word documents are), I found that three versions of the same stupid paragraph were all I could cough out before my self-confidence flickered out like a dead bulb and I wound up going for a walk instead.
I really, really tried to enjoy the walk. I listened to cheerful music (Hans Zimmer’s “The Holiday”), kicked up some of the dead leaves that had gathered in crunchy piles around the bike racks, and smiled, as if my emotions would get the idea sooner or later. But not even the most seasone
She'd heard the word from Theodore Rhodes first.
Age eleven at the time, he'd been deeply engrossed in one of his more barbaric videogames when something odd happened: an object, not one of any obvious importance or appeal, had somehow wound up in the middle of his digital path. The brawny thug under his control had inspected the object, jumped on it, punched it, and finally shot at it several times before Theodore decided that the object was just an error, a mistake. A glitch.
And Glitch fancied herself just that.
But even now, as the approximately seventeen-year-old sat at the end of the table two years later, it was clear to her still that something was indeed wrong. For although the girl should have been obvious with her brightly-colored clothing and her friendly demeanor, the people with whom she sat seemed hardly aware of her presence.
There was an odd quiet that hung over the family of five as they ate their breakfast. Mr. Rhode
All Pajamas, No Regrets My face buried deep in my pillow, I allow the exhaustion of the day to ooze through my veins, slowing my heart rate, dulling my thoughts. I sigh. Bed time at la—
A knock on the door sends me scrambling to my feet.
“Crap! I gotta get some pants on!” I glance out into the hall, laughing as my roommate flees the living room, trouser-less, her long arms trailing behind her. She’s a new addition to our apartment this semester, and so far I’m thoroughly enjoying the change.
“I’ll get it,” says Karen, my room-roommate. She steps around me and into the hallway, all pajamas and no shame as she hurries for the door.
Gabriella peeks through her door across the hall.
“Who is it?” I whisper, stepping back into my room. “Is it a guy?”
“Oh hey!” we hear Karen exclaim. A deep voice politely returns the greeting.
Gabriella's expression brightens, and I imagine a tiny d
I Let A Stranger InWhen I was unoccupied, I was flawless,
a thing of immaculate charm, an unblemished structure.
When I was empty, I was at peace.
But I was naïve and left my doors unlocked,
and one silent morning,
I let a stranger in.
He was a broken man,
wounded. I pitied him.
So I sheltered him and began to share his pain.
A medley of panic and curiosity
coursed through the depths of me
as his feeble sobs resonated through my interior.
The voice rattled my windows,
shook dust from the woodwork.
My floor boards moaned like an old man dying.
His fingers raked across my bowels, then,
uprooting paper flowers in their wake.
His acid tears scorched black-rimmed holes in my carpets.
A sharp and sudden cry exploded
in broken beams and bathed us both
in hazy sunlight.
Glistening threads draped across my long, long table,
its limbs withering with each hateful sigh.
Paint and paper wore away.
I wept, useless.
Why must I rot with him?
Where is my promised strength?
Finally, the wounded stranger escaped,
The Peers (draft 1) - Ch 1
"How are you this morning, Mr. Borrows?"
"None of your business. Now eat your breakfast so I can eat mine."
It was as typical a conversation as ever there was between the Hansom cab driver and nine-year-old Lark Midgley. Frank Borrows, all bark and no bite at six feet and ten inches, was doing his best to keep the meal a quiet one. Lark, on the other hand, was doing her best to do exactly the opposite. She adored Mr. Borrows as one might adore a grouchy old dog, and was certain that all the man needed was a mother figure to look after hima task she had taken on herself since the day he'd come to live with her and her parents three months before.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like some of my breakfast?" She held up a bowl of greyish mush, lumpy and wet and in great need of stirring. Borrows wrinkled his large nose and opened his mouth to say something unpleasant, but thought the better of it. After all, it was all the child had.
"Uh, no. No thank you.
Death of a Queen The Queen of Olomar had always been a stunning beauty, but in death her loveliness was magnified. Her face was white and pristine like a porcelain doll, framed by the golden, perfect tangles of her hair. Her crystal eyes were closed, peaceful, as if dreams, not death, had taken her, and her pink lips were parted, a permanent mold of her calm and final breath. But it was her warmth more than anything that made her so lovely in death, for although life had slipped from her ethereal form, the warmth of her heart remained, and her body could not grow cold.
This was the tale that the people of Olomar would tell in the months following, amongst each other and to curious foreigners passing through. In a few years many would actually convince themselves that the tale was true. But no one who had been there would ever be able to forget the horror that was the true death of Queen Emma.
King Hadrian had not been there in the moment of her passing, having been sent fro
It's All Been Arranged
The place is pretty rundown. One small, dirty fan lightan insect graveyardprovides the only source of light in the room, illuminating the piles of hoarded junk that line the bare concrete walls; they've been pushed to the side just for us. But junk or no junk, there's a surprising amount of space in here, even with the king-sized bed that stands in the room's center. It's almost an inviting sight after today's events, even with its broken springs and mystery stains. Yes, I think it will do. Sure it's not the honeymoon suite I'd been hoping for, but considering our honeymoon funds were "borrowed" for today's wedding, it's a miracle my husband and I have a bed tonight at all.
How does the saying go? Beggars can't be choosers?
Hands clasped, I start to rock back and forth on the balls of my feet like a giddy four-year-old, desperate to lighten the atmosphere. "Well, here we are!" I chirp.
"Yes," my new husband replies, "yes, here we are."
Then there is
I am playing tag with God.
Taunting the bowl in a deadly
tango, a tango of risk and the roll of a
A dice of watery
Stepping over patient
rocks, I marvel at
mirrors to another world.
A world in which armies of
organic flame forcefully
bow to a deity that
pulls a hood of pure
navy over the skin
of its own
A leaf of blue.
Each shimmering haze of
terrifying ice and
Divers that start from the left and
work their way until
modern art is submerged by
the drifting octopus of
I see small vortexes,
where the specks have
crafted tunnels that soon
collapse upon a
cappuccino created from
diamonds of spit, while
the cream crawls across
obnoxious mountains ,
Before sulking through
meaningless bubbles become meaningless
tears, crying to a
oceanic dunes and
laugh at my luck to not be
adopted by the vast
iris, I see three boils of
Turn On The Dark
When fragile hopes and fears collide
It waits for you on the other side
I can feel the tremors in my soul
I've grown afraid of the masquerade.
Barely holding on, I'm losing control
Wide awake, I confide in the shade.
Sinking so slowly down the drain
Much like the purple pill I swallow.
A voice unheard is a voice in vane
Black rain falls and teardrop's follow.
Shadows loom throughout the room
They cover my eyes like a veil.
Just flip the switch, it'll be over soon
Just pull the curtain over the pale.
The transition rattles my psyche at first
Yet it's a feeling I've always invited.
For when my body becomes submersed
I discover my worlds benighted.
I wonder how much time has passed
Fading deeper into the stark domain.
A place like this, shows no contrast
But it's a place I must ascertain.
I call this smoke-filled cell a prison
That harbors questions of fruition.
But like a zombie, I have risen
To greet the face of my mortician.
I'm taken with its abysmal skies
Now I reap the chilling s
queen of nothing.what I've learned:
I still remember singing in my room when I was six, and having my mother come down the hall and slam the door so hard that the windows shook.
Her nails hurt when she scraped the tears off my face. "It doesn't matter what you want," she'd always tell me.
Like, when that drunk driver swerved and hit her car I didn't want her to leave me, and it didn't matter.
Once on vacation I bought a pair of fuzzy leather heels for two hundred dollars, and when I wore them to dinner, I found out that
1. "Suede" is a fancy word for "fuzzy leather."
And 2. Good things don't last: That night my cousin told me that she thought 135 pounds was a little too big for five foot eight. So I tore my tights up to the thigh and threw those new suede heels in the garbage.
It felt good later, to know that they couldn't hate me more than I hate myself.
My six-word story from ninth grade reads, "If I don't laugh, I'll cry."
When I read that treating people like trash to gets them to nee
Cutter 'what are you scared of?'
she was too pale to be held against the sun: so she leans against it until you can't see her face.
her eyes were chalk-smudges on blackboards, blurred against a backdrop of white-washed walls. her outline was all fade-out and lace, as white as winter could be.
her words were quiet like stains are, clinging to a curtain in the window. just trying to blend into the pattern, or at least not become part of it.
and when she breathes her chest swells with see-through lungs--hoping that if you focus, you'll see right through her glass skin. after all, she's just a smudge of the wrong varnish in your eyes.
she shudders, and tastes all that's hollow drip down her wrist. and today, it looks grey instead of saccharine. regret honey-fills the cracks in her over-dried lips and ice-splintered skin. inklings of every word she forgot how to say. since, of course, they never made it past dead-deaf ears anyways.
knowing you'll never notice she's crying. crying for ever
Morpheus!Captive of gentle Morpheus
Magnolia dream world of ease
Sleep, celestial plain.
GluttonHis caramel covered fingers caress my coffee skin
An epiphany aged in its own beautiful winery,
A honeyed breath drawn in a moment so heated,
Its oven like intensity roasting any kind of chastity.
Irreverently juicy, pleasingly sinful,
Succulently divine in its every form
Lovemaking at its most beautiful
Moans that echo sheer gluttony.
I never knew passion was edible,
nor lust so delicious in its impassioned call
Until he showed me why chocolate
is the most deadly sin of them all.
You are my other half,amore
I pulled your shirt to my body,unzipped,
To the beat of your heart.
Your head was close to my face.
You smiled,your lips almost on mine.
Having your arms around me is what I live for.
I looked at your eyes and asked "why".
Why here,why now,why me?
I like the scent of your hair,
And I absolutely love your cigarette's smoke,
In my hair,on my lips,between your fingers.
Our bodies intertwined,it just feels right.
I adore your whisper on my ear,makes me feel safe.
Your warm breath on my neck,mixed with your kisses
Makes my body loose control. You drive me crazy.
My soul is so close to yours,never let me go.
I need you,your lips fit on mine.
Your fingers in my hair,and my fingers in your hand.
I love when I feel your heartbeat.
It makes me feel like I belong in there.
Never give me up.
Hold me in your embrace,I need you,amore.
Life of the Entire Galaxy
~a puzzle that needs to be solve that brings more confusion to the mind~
~a math problem that seeks answers that brings more questions in the end~
~a riddle with twist and turns that brings more pathways with infinite possibilities~
:Authors Critical Thinking Notes:
There are pieces that brings out a much bigger puzzle, it’s an infinite phase that brings the unpredictability of the galaxy’s Life cycle, a tiny bit of fraction can lead to another superior picture.
"you can never see what it seems to be"
Man is trying to answers the cycle of life of the entire galaxy
Guessing that it’s too much information for man to take in his brain
But with the help of technology, maybe they can
I’m not a scientist, I’m not philosopher yet
But wishing I am
Dreams are free
Thinking big made you lost the grasp of reality
Just don’t forget yourself
To step in your ground
Find your balance
FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.
& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More