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To show my worth to you.
Then what do you do?
Remember the times I wept,
I sobbed a million tears
And you tell me I'm weak,
Of all things.
You know what?
Crying shows I'm human
Not a robot like you want.
So tell me again that showing my weakness makes me any less than of your level
Because last time I checked
I found that you're human too.
EiulatI lay upon my bed
Phone in hand
And I can't believe that in the middle of the night
I hear his voice again.
It truly is
And I don't know how come he understands..
He understands & forgives me...
Then I open my eyes.
My mouth never moved.
My hand never had anything in it.
My ears never heard his voice.
I hallucinated again
But this time
It stabbed me harder than ever..
My mind played the most heart-breaking trick on me it ever could.
Final WordsI'm on my bruised knees
And the spine-chilling barrel of a gun's pressed to the back of my head.
I don't cry.
I don't wail for help.
I narrow my eyes
My blazing eyes
And grit my teeth
Barking my final words
Before the bullet's made its way to my brain filled with dark, morbid thoughts.
What did I say?
Even if you kill me
I will still love him
Until the end of time
SepulturaI stare at him
With dead eyes
Because that's what I truly am;
My skin is as pale as the moonlight scraping across it
My tangled hair brushing against my neck,
He holds me in his arms
In the awkward way he once did when I lived.
He places his bloody lips on my chapped pair
Tears stroking down his face
As he falls to his knees
Whispering words I'll never receive into my ears.
Walking through the scarlet fields
He approaches a vast forest cloaked in darkness
And he knows
That's where I would've wanted him to take me.
And as he gently lays my body against the frigid soil
Letting the black leather clinging onto my arms & feet indulge within the earth;
The cotton masterpiece slipping off my chest
As well as the denim sticking to my legs.
Placing his fingers on my eyelids
My lashes brush against his nails
Once he shuts my eyes
And lets me rest upon the ground..
But then my palm catches his wrist
As though it was by force
And he just bites his lip
Turning back towards the moon's b
BeastHe's a beast
Is that a good or bad thing?
But the way he plays the game of love
Makes the strings that hold up my heart tangle.
The cloth of his shirt
It slides across my bare skin
As we lay in the same dusty bed,
My head resting upon his heart.
The dim, dingy ambience consumes me
As I stare at the door hinge that separates us from the rest of the world.
The angle of my gaze is awkward
But the same thoughts come to my mind:
I'm a moth
And he's a lightbulb.
I'm attracted to him
And I'll die because of it.
There's drastic consequences waiting for me
But it doesn't matter
As long as I'm here
He's a beast
Is that a good or bad thing?
But the way he plays the game of love
Makes the strings that hold up my mind tangle.
Snake That Caused Me To SinHis bristling skin brushes against mine
Our lips together
My back against the floor.
This dark passion I have for his love
It ruined my life.
So what do I have to lose now?
He's the snake that caused me to sin
But he works his magic every night in exchange.
It soothes all my pain, it truly does..
That's how you can describe the feeling of our bodies entwining
And truly fantastic.
And my heart's ice
And he's melting it second by second he's here.
He's dope as hell
Dominant as the rulers of the world
Scarring as my knife.
When he's done
He slips into his blue jeans & white shirt
Gazing back into my tar black soul.
And he just smirks
Then as he leaves
My friends arrive
Asking me how I got this carpet burn.
E.V.O.L.Love is a beautiful thing
'Til two idiots screw it up
And it's flipped around.
It only takes a drop of E.V.O.L.
To ruin two beautiful people..
To drive them into madness
And let their hearts crackle
'Til they can't take it any longer
And they want to die.
Then L.O.V.E.'s a word they'll never learn to pronounce...
Final WishesFirst letter:
Love, I have to tell you this. I know you won't believe me, because I don't believe it myself, but I have to tell you.
Remember when we were both kids, wishing on stars? I remember our first night – we were lying on the hill staring up at the sky, and then we held hands and together we wished that we'd be together forever and marry and have a kid who could change the world, and we held hands and then – this hurts to write, I'm sorry, I miss you so much
but, well –
it came true, didn't it? We married. And you're still with me, more or less, even if I can't see you and all you can see is these bloody letters, and – and our little girl can change the world.
She wished for a cat last night, love. I wish I could have told her no. We can't take care of one. But she didn't ask me, did she? She asked the stars.
I can tell you which star she asked, too. The centerpiece of Orion's belt is missing. And in her room, I can't even walk, there's not any su
Fall of ManI remember thinking: if this were a story, it would be alright. Even tragedies have meaning when someone else holds the pen. But this is not a story. Unless it is.
There was me cradling you in the wreckage of a building; and in the distance, the sounds of running and screaming and alarms of ambulances, everyone calling for help, and there, another building collapsing.
A snowflake fell on your forehead and for a moment it seemed more important than the blood, more important than bombs falling from the sky, the war that had begun. Blocks away perhaps a television was somehow still on, perhaps it screamed propaganda. All I knew was you had no reason to be punished.
People can’t run with broken legs, and you also had a broken arm, and when I heard another woman scream for her beloved to come back to life, I knew you would die.
I should have remembered what you whispered to me, but the planes above were too loud. If I had heard your last word
Flying Dreams“I don’t know why I love you.
I just…can’t stop thinking of you.”
said old Mr. squirrel slowly caressing
the nut in his bed beside him.
He pulled the glasses from face and set them down
on the nightstand beside him
letting out a sigh. A picture of himself
and another sitting beside him.
He rolled back over and kissed the nut
falling into a deep sleep.
Mr. Squirrel dreamed of flying,
just as his cousins could.
Flying from tree to tree.
Like an overextended wonderful leap.
Safe from danger. Safe from the predators below.
A dog snapping and growling. He paid it no notice.
He was free and happy sailing through the trees.
Through the clouds. He could reach out
with his paws and touch them.
SO soft and fluffy
just like her…
He awoke from his dream startled.
It took him a second to catch his breath,
and he played with his graying beard hairs.
He had been much younger in the dream. So much younger.
“It’s a dream my sweet. Nothing more then a drea
It's Burning Down Anyway"You shouldn't play with matches," she said. "You'll hurt yourself."
I lit a cigarette - with a lighter - and remembered Annie Venter telling me that in the eighth grade as I lit matches behind the school. I had stared at her and lit the whole matchbook on fire, and then I had dropped it in the grass. She made me stomp it out.
I stood on the porch of my apartment, listening to the rain and staring out at the fog and the clouds and thinking that somewhere out there, Annie Venter was probably sleeping, not thinking about the time she told some stupid kid not to play with matches. I flicked the lighter on and off a few times to see if it would feel the same way the matches had all those years ago, but it didn't.
The smoke curled above me in the cold air, a visible metaphor for addiction as it hung off me. Everything in my life smelled like that anymore: like ashes.
I dropped the cigarette on the deck and I stared at the small red ember, letting it burn and smoke, letting it become
Ageing Superhero (FFM 24)Nathan always imagined he’d go out in a gunfight, cape fluttering; a hero’s death in the pursuit of peace. Turns out, he was only right about the “gun” part.
* * *
Mr Cuddles weaves around Nathan’s ankles. He’s purring loudly, and shedding fur all over Nathan’s slightly-too-tight bodysuit, but Nathan’s attention is fixed on the tinny voice coming from his mobile.
“Look, your international days are over. You’re getting older, and I know you’ve gained a few pounds. No, don’t try to lie to me. You wear spandex, Nathan. It’s pretty unforgiving, and you no longer have a six-pack. The world events, the foreign villains, you can leave them to the newbies.”
Paying no attention to the plaintive-sounding agent, Mr Cuddles hunts, unnoticed as he follows Nathan towards the safe on the landing.
Nathan’s carrying his guns one-handed; he’s only half-listening to his age
NebraskaHe called her Nebraska. The first time he did was in a Wal-Mart parking lot with August humidity pressing the air from their lungs. It also happened to be the first time she saw him. “Whoa there, Nebraska!” he’d said as the blue shopping cart got away from her and rolled right into him.
She apologized profusely. At least it was empty, and hadn’t got a chance to gather much speed. Besides, what the heck was he doing standing in the cart return?
“Why the heck are you standing in a cart return?” she asked him. He was tall. Lanky. He had a military haircut, and she should have known then. He was young; she likely had the long side of a decade on him. But when he smiled, everything just felt better.
He vaulted out of the pipe enclosure and held something up between his thumb and index finger. A nickle. He grinned again, and his green eyes crinkled, “I dropped it.”
“Well that explains it.”
“And now,” he said, “I ha
[TGB] Leave The Light OnIt seemed only natural that she found him.
Her paws had been weary, her mind restless - home no longer felt like home and he .... he had always had a calming presence upon her soul. His smirking blue-green eyes soothed a fire in her soul and made everything shift when she hadn't been aware it was askew in the first place.
He held her steady, whether he knew it or not and right now Arya felt like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fancy seeing you again - if I didn't know any better I'd say you missed my dashing looks."
Perhaps it was in the way Arya fumbled for an appropriate response, or perhaps it was how her grass eyes misted over with unshed tears - full to the brim with emotion Arya usually kept hidden from her companion.
"Arya?" His brow furrowed slightly and he took a hesitant step forward. His firefly was strong ... for her to be so shaken ...
She wasn't sure when the tears had started, hadn't noticed their slow descent down her cheeks until Idek's nose was touchin
My Knee Hurts and I Hate David BowieThey're at it again.
I've grabbed the broom and smacked the handle against the ceiling, but the neighbours upstairs take no notice. I think about calling the police, but I hate doing that without at least talking to them. Everybody deserves that chance, I think. Still, the prospect of standing outside their door and talking to them isn't one that sits comfortably. When I think I'm going to explode if I have to listen to another second, I give in.
I power up the stairs like nobody's business, and pound on their door. I'd knock like a normal person, but if they can't hear the broom hitting their floor, they won't hear a knock, either. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens and sound washes over me in a wave that's all but solid.
The figure in the doorway looks like a reject from an 80's concert. He's got a blinkin' mullet, and he sparkles... but he's got nothin' on the fella behind him. Bloody queer's wearing a dress, and more makeup than an entire row of beaut
The Cat Curls UpAnd a very good afternoon to you. You catch me looking at a catalogue of old chairs – nothing I would sell in my store, but from an aesthetics viewpoint it reminds me of some of the – things we used to think were fashionable.
Take this one for example – the infamous box seat, so popular in the early seventies for the style conscious and space conscious young person about town. Actually, the only thing they really turned out to be good for was walking into or falling off.
There was a flat I visited in the Knightsbridge area in the mid seventies, when Habitat, god rest their soul, were just starting out and making this sort of thing popular. I had thought it was empty, but after raiding the bedrooms I discovered the error of my ways – walking into the main room, I disturbed this eighteen year old girl, wearing a short sleeved white crotched top, pale blue mini skirt, white knee length socks and flat shoes, sitting on one of these box contraptions
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