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The Waste WorldShe said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.The Waste World by *0hgravity
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morp
the cannibaleyes bright for wildflowersthe cannibal by *0hgravity
I swear they leaned toward her as she passed
with her boyish gait, a confident stride
she caught me with the absence of her smile
and she thought I was a wildfire
set to burn her worries away
but I was tame
tame tame tame
and she was burning up
she laughed when she realized my still temperament
bewildering the sound, a pretty Sunday laugh
light of heart, balancing honesty's edge
hiding between this duality of personality
her fabricated safe haven
but in the night she asked me to keep her
and for a long time I held her soft body, full of insecurity
to mine securely but her anxiety was an earthquake
I could feel inside her, I could feel the tectonic
plates shifting in her mind and once she'd chiseled her nails
to bare skin she moved on to mine
she held my hands like a wounded bird in hers and she
whispered to them "when you fly, I will too"
yet all the while she kept clipping their wings
with her ner
CharlieI had a stalker.Charlie by *0hgravity
I didn't know his name but I'm sure he knew mine.
I called him Charlie.
He always had a camera hanging from his twig thick neck and he cradled it in his hands; a wispy finger stroking the shutter release. His dark brown hair was a curly mess and his shirts wrinkly and thin. He had the most perfect eyebrows, sweeping and gentle. He must have the most captivating eyes, I thought every time he'd glance my way. We'd never made eye contact. Charlie preferred it that way.
He came into the bookstore once a week, not to watch me leaf through the used books or reach high to shelve the approved ones, but to actually browse them. He
Character - Fortune AdjusterCome in, boy, come in. No, I will call you boy. The carnival manager is Boy to me too, do not think yourself so high and mighty. Come in, you want your fortune told by the old circus hag, yes? Come in, sit here, let me peer at you in the shade. You want your future told? A simple task, for I have already seen it in my inner eye. But more than simply tell, I will change. In truth I am not a teller of fortunes, but an adjuster.Character - Fortune Adjuster by ~Cobrateen
The youth of today, worried about the future, ha! The future happens over and over, will happen just as it has happened. All I need are your anchors, the things deciding your future. For example, that pretty little thin
White on BlackWhite on BlackWhite on Black by ~AbsoluteDragon
Sometimes, things happen that make you say to yourself, “What did I do to deserve this?” That day was one of those days. It was just after my shift at the grocery store where I worked. The time was ten-thirty at night. Finally, after busting my tail for six hours, I was ready to return home for some well-deserved rest. I stood at the exit doors, ready to enjoy my temporary freedom.
There was a problem with my plans, though. It had been snowing and windy all day. Ice and frost covered my entire road home. Not that this was unusual. It was the middle of February after all. Winter always involves ice and snow, unless you live at the equator or something. This was not just winter snow: this was a blizzard. No blizzard should be taken lightly, especially one that had earlier been only slush and wet snow. As the sun set, the wet areas iced over. Now, the tempest had blown a fresh layer of white snow over the wet, stor
The Colour of DirtWar is the colour of a country’s dirt.The Colour of Dirt by ~EvilpixieA
Here it is black.
“I don’t like the taste of this place,” he says. “It’s like the Devil sat down and farted.”
It rained from the sky for four hundred and forty three days. Black. Like tiny flakes of nothing. Tumbling, twirling, shards of the abyss.
“It’s the fish. The ash cover on the ocean has drowned them," she replies. "They’re washing up in mountains on the beach just over that hill. Tony and Clare took the big kids to see.”
It drifted from a storm stained sky to pile on rooftops until they crumbled and collapsed.
“Can’t drown a fish.”
It stuck to tongues and faces till everyone was a ghost with red rimmed eyes and gray hair.
“Help me with this will yo--” a fit of coughing. Spit. “Sorry. I can’t seem to stop doing that.”
It coloured between teeth like tho
Up is down[ Can't make it.Up is down by ~kiwi2191
Prof. M decided to hold an extra lecture.
Will be free in the evening.
Love you.]
I reread the text message for perhaps the eighteenth time before deciding that; no, the words weren't just going to magically rearrange themselves, yes, he really was occupied with studies and not that busty blonde chick that always sat to his left, and no, I wasn't an idiot and a fool for putting up with this shit. It took a while for me to understand my own train of thought. Maybe because the coffee was taking a bit longer than it usually did to kick in. When it did though, I slowly lowered my head against the cool metal of the table top and willed myself not to break down in public.
Things must really be bad if it's gotten to the point where I have to tell myself that everything's okay.
I lost track of time, too busy sorting through my muddled thoughts. It wasn't like anyone was going to ask me to leave, what with it being two in the afternoon a
The Final QuestionWhich second is the final secondThe Final Question by ~WykydWyka
I like to put my sword to my temple
If I had a gun
I'd put it to my temple
I wouldn't pull the trigger
I just like being one action from death
I enjoy dwelling in that moment
The answer so close
Sometimes depression
Most times
Curiosity
An answer that cannot be given back
To the final question
If anything, I am welcoming
But it is potentially the last question I can solve
Which is terrifying
Speaking from death, about missing life
prose |prōz| noun • written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical structure : a short story in prose | [as adj. ] a prose passage. |
To Drown Is Not To DieWhen the water’s risen so highTo Drown Is Not To Die by =secretly-broken
I see the world in tinted blue
Know that I am down beneath
Losing all my thoughts of you
The bubbles of breaths, gentle oxygen
of poison that fills me deep within
I am escaping your world in blue nightmare
Lancelot shattered the mirror and brought on the curse
A fool but superficial lover at the least
But you are only an image on the surface
Of my nightmarish dream
And if I am the lady, this my Shallot
Shall I die either way?
The lady’s body of virginal delight
Purity in essence, floating by
But I tell you, this is my story,
Not a lullaby for the eternal,
If I weaved it in seclusion,
If I weaved i
Sandsweptsmall sacrifices, thatSandswept by ~greenleo94
one lick sucked me dry
your Gobi desert tongue was a curse
this onetwo quickstep
unsettled leaves from the soil
stamped footprints into deer trails
nature called out gentleness and
instead we went dancing
turned down antlers for diamonds
stole hooves from her womb
collected the beads between her breasts
and sold them for cheap copper
you wired my throat
to accept your feigned apologies
your gluttony
your sin
like telephone poles
my vocal cords severed in the gale
an addict in search for nirvana
I lay at your feet - panting
and between the tendons on your ankles
were lipstick stains
when your hoarfrost bones
melted
ListenIts glossy white keysListen by ~CrazyDiamond94
smile proudly.
The small black keys
accent its subtle fragility.
The innocent fingers
glide slowly among them.
Resting in silent fear
the keys await the inevitable pain.
The push of the key.
The minute, sustained note.
An ounce of jarring agony.
Freezing, colliding torture
as each finger descends.
Pushing into the body and
the life of the keys.
An angelic, melodious,
syncopated tune drifts along.
Its melancholic underlying misery
is hidden by the facade of allure.
Would one think that
such a charming vessel
could be burdened
by the sinister, omnipresent
reminder of doubt and the
peevish judgmental eye
of its pee
tug at my heartyou said "please"tug at my heart by ~miserabel
and I wasn't there to hear
you told me "I was desperate"
and all I could think of was how
I wasn't there to hold you close to me
to make you feel safe and loved
because you should be and you are
I am so
small and
powerless
I can't
fight your battles
no matter how much
I want to
forgive me
it feels like I've
f a i l e d
where there's smokesomeone asked me for advice today-where there's smoke by ~quantumponies
a girl, fourteen, tear stains down her cheeks,
stick-thin wrists and fingers curling and clenching
searching for something to hold on to.
and all i could think to say
to this girl with hungry eyes and desperate hands
was, “it gets better.”
it took hours, driving home
before i was able to give name to the curling unclenching feeling inside me
the raw hunger, the razor-edged desperation,
the taste of the words i couldn’t find.
what i didn’t say;
you, with your hollow bones,
your spiderweb scars across your thighs,
your shattering thoughts inside your skull-
i know you.
i know how
BIG BANG TheoryThe first BIG BANG was the echo of a coughBIG BANG Theory by *MattVoscinar
which reverberated the sound of tar filled lungs.
Warning
Cigarettes may will cause cancer.
This cancer is called life,
grown from the bacteria of a smoker's phlegm.
Here we stand created;
not from monkeys but,
the remains of tumors.
(Or maybe monkeys are a premature stage of such diseases).
And so it was born:
The story of a young boy,
who never took the time
to wonder where it all came from.
He is but a monkey
wearing his feces,
and giggling at the humility.
Pride is his diaper.
His mother cradled him gently
rocking back and forth
with the sway of shipwreck romance.
His father is was her sai
poetry |ˈpōətrē; ˈpōitrē| noun • literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature : he is chiefly famous for his love poetry. |
Temporis MendaciumThe Nighttime Wanderer dawns a raven longcoat outlined with gold trimmings walks through the night, fog serving as his abiding companion. As the Nighttime Wander proceeds on his stroll through the the lonesome road, he debates to himself, as is his custom, on matters mostly ignored by his fellow man; subjects that often force one who reads their covers to search deep within their very soul for them to attempt to answer, all laid bare before all to see and analyze.Temporis Mendacium by *TheNighttimeWanderer
The nightly fog continues to grow dense, a rather pleasing aspect for the Wanderer, as night and fog both serve to offer him sanctuary and security, something the sun could never h
One Last Song Before I Goevery word i never said but wish i hadOne Last Song Before I Go by *calibius
and
every word i said but shouldn't have
replay simultaneously like
a million miniature broken records.
the airwaves are stagnant with dying memories.
what happened to me?
when did i become this?
when did i lose my way?
what did i do?
how why what when where.
i choke on pseudo-answers that take me no where
& dont show me where i've been—or where to go.
maybe i should take the plunge:
a swan dive into icy cold water.
such elegant destruction —
engulfed by absence & swallowed by no sound.
headfirst i came, headfirst i go.
wordless.
willpower was the last reason
keeping me from jumpi
5: Fire Angers Water As a man walked by Taluna laughed and dove into the bay's waters. She stuck most of her head into the air; water lapped just below her bottom lip. The man crouched to splash water on his face, eyes following her every move. Smiling, she flicked water at him with her sea green tail. The scales reflected a rainbow sheen under the sun.5: Fire Angers Water by =Amriah
"What a beauty you are." He walked along the shoreline.
She swam in time with his movements. Each stroke brought her scaled body into the light, exposing their natural trails onto her cheeks, over the gills on her neck and spiny, fin-tipped ears. The color of her eyes actually shifted from deep
Blood BrothersMarcus wove through the rusted insides of the unfinished factory. Gripping a large beam, he spun around corners faster than the short boy behind him managed. He screeched like a hawk. The sound echoed through the dead piles of ash and darkness. The other boy responded with the trill of a lark, knowing Marcus hated it when he did that. It was a beautiful sound, soft and delicate, something Marcus failed to capture or understand. With a growl, Marcus sped up.Blood Brothers by =Amriah
"No fair." The other boy's voice wavered with the beat of his quick stride. Like a miniature drum.
The mental image made Marcus laugh and slow down. Sweat created a slick, cool layer over his tan skin and he wiped his face on his already-tattered shirt.
The boy caught up to him. "No fair."
Marcus shoved him. "So what?"
But Marcus's muscles relaxed as he wrapped an arm over the boy's shoulder. Their bare feet stirred the dust, proof that no one set foot in there, other than them, since the Fire. Marcus found the pla
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Sta.sh
them too! 
it really means a lot!
