Fade,they tell me, You're not meant to be. The tears sting my eyes, burning like coals that blacken my irises and paint them red. Black holes cascade through my wiry membranes; I'm a skeleton, a twig lost in the foliage darkness.
You're no quasar,they tell me, You're just plain deluded. And I gulp down my anger; a writhing mass that dives through me and settles somewhere in my stomach's leery orbits. And it stays there, as though mocking me, but reminding me to stay strong.
You're broken,they tell me. You're useless, they hiss. Of what use are these words if I cannot use them as weapons? Of what use are these lashing swords, if I cannot spar with these mindless hearts? And I watch my hand weave through the embers, and the flames and the sparks that just never seem to die. The paintbrushes sketch the walls crimson. And I smile, as I fade away. Not because they told me too, but because this is my way of being strong.
the butterflies hit me hard and fast a bombardment of bullets from inside my stomach every crevice of my being a battlefield of emotions and i can't i can't i can't my mouth seals shut as if it is glued and the opinion i was going to voice has been imprisoned and i'll leave it to you to do the talking
it feels a little like heartburn and a lot like giving in - up down and down and down until splat and splatter holdpin pigeon hole broke break breaken weaken -
it burns up the esophagus and into the mouth
the tongue tastes what the heart spit out.
***Under the Responsibility of S.P.E.W.*** (Sadistic Perplexion of Everyone's Wits)
Medieval Lit! Come here to find out who Chaucer plagiarized and translated - and why and how it worked in the late 1300s.
Where along quiet ramble runs the nervous rabbit? The cool river whispers secrets, secrets, about the way the glen bucks and scrambles to follow the white jumper. Here the leap is wide, there the jump is long, inside the grassy knoll and around the smooth pond, the rabbit finds its neglected home.
I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.
you wonder, sometimes, why your dreams don’t match everyone else’s expectations flowers on beds of rosey thorns blatant in metaphors of no, no, no - let sleeping lions lie, perhaps, if you knew how to keep from poking them side stepping directly into a den of wasp covered nightmare ending in rocky cliffs over desert (not ocean)
(I think I'm missing words and one line is just not working for me. guh)
***Under the Responsibility of S.P.E.W.*** (Sadistic Perplexion of Everyone's Wits)
Medieval Lit! Come here to find out who Chaucer plagiarized and translated - and why and how it worked in the late 1300s.
My brain stays vacuumed. Nothing but emptiness swirls as I think of a way to break-free these verses.
If any person raises his hand to strike down another on the ground of religion, I shall fight him till the last breath of my life, both as the head of the Government and from outside- Jawaharlal Nehru.
It told me that I could not leave, Until I wrote a line or two. So in order to depart, This is what I must do.
Rhyme some words, Every other line. ABCB pattern, You are looking fine.
I don't normally, Flirt with nonliving things. But when I do, The choir always sings.
It's soft, sweet melodies, Wrapping their arms around us. Just stay calm, they say, There's no need to make a fuss.
“Admire my gaytime in the mist of purple~” -lostthought, 2015. ~~~~~~~~~~~Usernames~~~~~~~~~~~ Pamplemousse (4/16/14-Now) Lateritic (8/21/13-4/16/14) Kittyz101 (3/11/13-8/21/13)
I really hate it when I can't control the things that happen down below like when I have to pee really really bad but I just can't seem to get my feet out of bed.
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