anyone else write? share your stuff. no rules, except dont rip on other people's personal expression. i'll start:
my grandpa once told me, "spooning always leads to forking"
i'm a little unnerved by this. when we lay close, i can't help but clasp your wrists. is it scary? (to have and to hold and be held and not know what will happen when you let go.) "let go! let go!" i can't, i wont let you drift off through these blankets to the foot of the bed, to the back of my head i've been trying to keep you in and myself out of mind. those bruises show me im doing just fine. shes got pretty black eyes to match this soul of mine. such a perfect couple, violently entwined. and the irony of this situation lies next to us in bed, does that make this a threesome?
a pair of queens and a jack kicker
last night i saw a generation commit suicide
it was the longest path the world had ever pulled straight before my eyes. the chain fence cast shadows under my feet like toothy demented smiles.
how embarassing.
my water bottle actually had water in it, and i swayed a little just from the awkwardness of it all. a girl ran her hand down the chain before me and they began to laugh at my sobriety.
none of my kind usually do this to themselves, tell themselves its ok, they aren't bleeding, no one is breathing incoherently. i do. its pathetic.
its ironic when they fall in front of a classroom building, and i feel like i should be in the dark and silent windows scowling, instead of trying to relate to the girl who can't feel her face. i just told her to be "ok" in the morning.
all evening i counted something different than everyone else. the time. i guess they counted time too but only in terms of drinks and hours until class the next day. i counted the time until i could go home. making sure she made it in bed ok, hoping she remembers me in the morning.
who the **** am i kidding?
untitled
my hope (oh my god)
has carefully weighed the pros and cons of (rapt in empty urgency) a selfish request.
has gone for the week.
has fallen asleep at the controls of this machine and we're left careening toward any and every apocolypse. (like when your parents rest their eyes)
my hope has been sullied by the day to day to day
today i traversed the uncharted seas of followers with no leader. (except for the charismatic flashing lights of the street) and i helped a woman to her feet only to find her robbing me. cash is a stonger leader than hope it seems.
sunday is a day for hope we hope.
i hope (sunday is a day of rest) to rest until monday.
A sonnet for...
She buried her face in her hands on a park bench in the dark. Her shoulders wrenched forward, wingjoint scars exposed. She ground her angelwings into angeldust, And traded her dignity for shame and some blow.
She had wept the first time she laid flat on her back. "You can't come back without those you know..." Her feet and hands have become more practiced with necessity, Though her heart wishes to flutter above the mud and the snow.
"Beautiful," they tell her as they pay her, And she puts on her clothes. "Gorgeous," he says as he rubs her thigh, And she does a line of coke. "I'll miss you," He says as he shakes his head, And let's her go.
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
i hope im not the only one willing to post in this thread. i'll feel like a complete jackass.
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
Monday morning starts with a smirk. The spark her eyes to start some fires. Wine bedside with the shotglass in the hall. This is the worry story. Her real self unmatched to her insides (something like a chimera). Tuesdays tuned in intangible. He's standing on the outside. Consierge suit and muffled air along with the music. Cigarette smoke and a sex scent her MO. Thirty dollars won't buy him off. Yesterday was a mystery, today was the official tragedy.
Faces told him to keep it clear, keep it clean, keep it corgial. but his innate ambitions are too busy teasing thoughts of lipstick on the collar. Wrapped wound wake like romance. Her calling out he's a [LoVer] like no other.
II
Wednesdays swept the note underneath. The secret kept safe behind the teeth. The words, the spill, expense to risk it. Its shrewed the taste of telling compared to the matchmaker elevator music. Dropped notation from the innards hoping to see hers in detail. Its frail when dealing in dirty thoughts and sexy super novas sprawled across the bedsheets. She never knew, but it emptied the pockets of tension other than in his suit. Its cute to him when she stared abscent to the obssessive habits unlike that of a consierge sitting on the fence watching the eyes set the room afire. The white of hers fit the substance on her face too fine for four letter words.
Friends told him to keep it clear. For snakes never roam in packs. Keeping it close, keeping it warm, corgial, or in context. And dealing lightly was a brushing of shoulders with death in a leisure suit. Thinker, thinker, right, dreamer, sceamer, sight, see her, dream her, blight, drink her, thinker, spite.
III
Thursday hit something on the heavy end. With the edges as smooth as a waltz on hells ballroom floor. The knocking screamed of explosions ahead. Her eyes, her taste, tales told in her bed. To lack the suit, teeth marks on his neck. The scratch, the skill, the space inbetween. The look, the line, the secret to keep. Exit the scene when the door spews some truths in his matchmaker lipstick on the collar corgial daydream. Saw him there, in her stead. Saw her there, in the bed. Garments gone, fire eyes red. Sweat instead, sheets soaking wet. Twenty dollar bills and better dead.
Friends told him to keep it clean, keep it corgial. Keep it calm in the consierge suit and in context. Its the joke for sliding under. Mixing work with lipstick on the collar. Thinker, thinker, right, see her, dreamer, blight, think her, dream her, spite, Friday, ender, goodnight...
A Dose of The Doorman's Placebo... I Monday morning starts with a smirk. The spark her eyes to start some fires. Wine bedside with the shotglass in the hall. This is the worry story. Her real self unmatched to her insides (something like a chimera). Tuesdays tuned in intangible. He's standing on the outside. Consierge suit and muffled air along with the music. Cigarette smoke and a sex scent her MO. Thirty dollars won't buy him off. Yesterday was a mystery, today was the official tragedy. Faces told him to keep it clear, keep it clean, keep it corgial. but his innate ambitions are too busy teasing thoughts of lipstick on the collar. Wrapped wound wake like romance. Her calling out he's a [LoVer] like no other. II Wednesdays swept the note underneath. The secret kept safe behind the teeth. The words, the spill, expense to risk it. Its shrewed the taste of telling compared to the matchmaker elevator music. Dropped notation from the innards hoping to see hers in detail. Its frail when dealing in dirty thoughts and sexy super novas sprawled across the bedsheets. She never knew, but it emptied the pockets of tension other than in his suit. Its cute to him when she stared abscent to the obssessive habits unlike that of a consierge sitting on the fence watching the eyes set the room afire. The white of hers fit the substance on her face too fine for four letter words. Friends told him to keep it clear. For snakes never roam in packs. Keeping it close, keeping it warm, corgial, or in context. And dealing lightly was a brushing of shoulders with death in a leisure suit. Thinker, thinker, right, dreamer, sceamer, sight, see her, dream her, blight, drink her, thinker, spite. III Thursday hit something on the heavy end. With the edges as smooth as a waltz on hells ballroom floor. The knocking screamed of explosions ahead. Her eyes, her taste, tales told in her bed. To lack the suit, teeth marks on his neck. The scratch, the skill, the space inbetween. The look, the line, the secret to keep. Exit the scene when the door spews some truths in his matchmaker lipstick on the collar corgial daydream. Saw him there, in her stead. Saw her there, in the bed. Garments gone, fire eyes red. Sweat instead, sheets soaking wet. Twenty dollar bills and better dead. Friends told him to keep it clean, keep it corgial. Keep it calm in the consierge suit and in context. Its the joke for sliding under. Mixing work with lipstick on the collar. Thinker, thinker, right, see her, dreamer, blight, think her, dream her, spite, Friday, ender, goodnight... -- Edited by Drewhadou at 23:51, 2006-02-16
very good. the only thing i don't like is "lipstick on the collar." That line is too cliche. Other than that, colour me impressed.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
Drewhadou wrote: A Dose of The Doorman's Placebo... I Monday morning starts with a smirk. The spark her eyes to start some fires. Wine bedside with the shotglass in the hall. This is the worry story. Her real self unmatched to her insides (something like a chimera). Tuesdays tuned in intangible. He's standing on the outside. Consierge suit and muffled air along with the music. Cigarette smoke and a sex scent her MO. Thirty dollars won't buy him off. Yesterday was a mystery, today was the official tragedy. Faces told him to keep it clear, keep it clean, keep it corgial. but his innate ambitions are too busy teasing thoughts of lipstick on the collar. Wrapped wound wake like romance. Her calling out he's a [LoVer] like no other. II Wednesdays swept the note underneath. The secret kept safe behind the teeth. The words, the spill, expense to risk it. Its shrewed the taste of telling compared to the matchmaker elevator music. Dropped notation from the innards hoping to see hers in detail. Its frail when dealing in dirty thoughts and sexy super novas sprawled across the bedsheets. She never knew, but it emptied the pockets of tension other than in his suit. Its cute to him when she stared abscent to the obssessive habits unlike that of a consierge sitting on the fence watching the eyes set the room afire. The white of hers fit the substance on her face too fine for four letter words. Friends told him to keep it clear. For snakes never roam in packs. Keeping it close, keeping it warm, corgial, or in context. And dealing lightly was a brushing of shoulders with death in a leisure suit. Thinker, thinker, right, dreamer, sceamer, sight, see her, dream her, blight, drink her, thinker, spite. III Thursday hit something on the heavy end. With the edges as smooth as a waltz on hells ballroom floor. The knocking screamed of explosions ahead. Her eyes, her taste, tales told in her bed. To lack the suit, teeth marks on his neck. The scratch, the skill, the space inbetween. The look, the line, the secret to keep. Exit the scene when the door spews some truths in his matchmaker lipstick on the collar corgial daydream. Saw him there, in her stead. Saw her there, in the bed. Garments gone, fire eyes red. Sweat instead, sheets soaking wet. Twenty dollar bills and better dead. Friends told him to keep it clean, keep it corgial. Keep it calm in the consierge suit and in context. Its the joke for sliding under. Mixing work with lipstick on the collar. Thinker, thinker, right, see her, dreamer, blight, think her, dream her, spite, Friday, ender, goodnight... -- Edited by Drewhadou at 23:51, 2006-02-16
FUCK YES
-- Edited by lucas at 02:46, 2006-02-17
-- Edited by lucas at 02:49, 2006-02-17
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
Lucas I gotta say man, your a writing fiend. It takes scores of testicuar fortitude to put your stuff out there like that. Put some more up there ya. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.....wait....that didnt sound gay did it?
Lucas I gotta say man, your a writing fiend. It takes scores of testicuar fortitude to put your stuff out there like that. Put some more up there ya. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.....wait....that didnt sound gay did it?
i like this guy
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
The triumph breaks through the cutlass sheer, A tepid stoning from staving sides, Side by side we wake the dawn. A quick hunt before we die.
Dismal terrors stake the cove, And side turned canvases throw it down. Whisper carefully before stares dance, And quickly before we tear the wind.
Grander stirs break down the visage Of the stabbing kin. With an ail of rips Drastic by the glaive that took it, And better with every return. By the danger halve it
You cannot break the limit because It’ll cut you down, And if you try it, The force will flake your crown. If you want grasp it, Then by all means go, If you have decided, Cast down your throat.
compliments to all for not writting crappy stuff. I was suprised that nobody did the lame teenage poetry thing (ex. "You broke my heart/I miss you/Please save me/I need a tissue/I cry so much/I'm in pain/You left me/Now I'm going insane") Props to you all.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
LoL nice one man. I'll give that one a grand total of ten extra points I believe. And ya I'm totally enthralled at the fact no one busted out with the classic case of "taking the blade to their wrists" or "I'd thought we'd be together forever" tripe. I dont think I'd be able to hack such nonesense.
These are some of my most recent ramblings. I really like the ideas behind these, but I definately need more development. I've been mostly writing fairy tales and fantasies of what my life will be like once I move out.
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Playing with boys like knives, It may be dangerous to sharpen their lives For you-- Falling in love is falling apart Remember it's impossible to think with your heart
Logic and discression are telling you wrong You don't even realize that this is your song
With every rhymic sentence And every rhyming line Your face grows more pale It's no longer sublime
So go on and argue that you were my best That you made me my best That each argument was a test and I failed -- Oh no! I failed all your lies I failed the mistrust I failed because I got hurt Our affair was a bust
And again as I speak Your knees are going weak You're seeing I'm right But there no point in a fight
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In everything I do, there is grace. In every light there is something to find. Vocal curves and waves, reflections and refractions I hear a lot, I see a lot... I don't believe any of it though. I find my own ways and have my own structures.
Shh, you'll fill my head with lies. I can over think this, but I don't think I'm out of line. Glint, glint, clink... There are soft steps on the stairs and I won't move.
I'm the only one who hasn't given up and everyone else is confused Let me tell you another secret and another truth. So, visit this new spot with me and we'll make it grand.
If we get caught, I’ll just laugh I always laugh. This time, I won’t care what happens Nor what is thought about me
It’s dark out and cold But the windows are fogged and we’re not wearing any clothes Innocently enough, I want to document this I promise not to peek…
Good girl, good boy. I’ve done nothing to regret.
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your tactful moves, real smooth have been practiced before every word you speak charm every frigid core
i looked in your eyes and thought i should be yours, could be yours and ever word seemed to be a chant and ever breath pushed doubt away --but i can't. i can't!
i've broken my promise to chance girls in white dresses, your pressed black pants i'll try something new, a minimalistic romance
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Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
Ya know, theres just something about female romance writings that give me a funny feeling inside...I think its called arousal...
" Edward Erudition Vs. Baxter Beauty (The Skin & Bones Symphony)..."
Murder, filler, plaster, killed her. Plastic eyes M.O. fit her. Dead weight lost it. Face, sliced it. Liar liar, your on fire. Picked your pistol, crypt attire. Gasp I see your marrow. Apologies cuz I can’t be your blanket (sadly I'm flesh not the fabric). Can’t keep you in safety. Fresh meat for the catwalk, only bones are on the plate. We’ve got some inquiries. Wanna twist the shape of some mysteries.
On a string, believe me I’m only screaming cuz you hanging makes me sick. They’ll eat you alive, you’ll scream and kick. Travesty no pianos are playing you out the door. Feed the whore for she wants more. Caught a glimpse of your marrow. Spilling out with the concierto. Life of the party til she opens her mouth. Could I only count on fingers hitherto.
I’ll save this for last since you can’t save yours. Pre-teen pregnancy, or false sense of ecstasy. Fresh meat for the catwalk, wearing piano wire. We’ve got some inquiries. Fresh meat for the catwalk, wearing piano wire. Careful not to trip in your crypt attire…
Yeah I'm guilty for siting Jerry's work. But I couldnt help it because it fit what I was trying to say so well. I subtrack five points from myelf for that one.
Yeah I'm guilty for siting Jerry's work. But I couldnt help it because it fit what I was trying to say so well. I subtrack five points from myelf for that one.
are you in a band?
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
im not surprised no one posted lame poetry, we all listen to trophy scars. intelligent music for in intelligent kids.
...
echolalia. echolalia.
we may be the only ones here awake, but i know we aren’t the only ones making a bad decision let’s just fit in. (don' you feel like disappearing, sweetie?) a bullet through my chest aimed at a heart that may or may not be behind my back and a smile ripped across my face by a girl with a grimace ripped across hers i’ve been limping off to sleep to a lonely cocoon in my sheets I could really use a few moments of something different. She’s got such echolalia. echolalia. When I whispered “don’t forget me.” “forget me.” this is going quite well it seems.
-- Edited by lucas at 06:26, 2006-02-19
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
im not surprised no one posted lame poetry, we all listen to trophy scars. intelligent music for in intelligent kids. ... echolalia. echolalia. we may be the only ones here awake, but i know we aren’t the only ones making a bad decision let’s just fit in. (don' you feel like disappearing, sweetie?) a bullet through my chest aimed at a heart that may or may not be behind my back and a smile ripped across my face by a girl with a grimace ripped across hers i’ve been limping off to sleep to a lonely cocoon in my sheets I could really use a few moments of something different. She’s got such echolalia. echolalia. When I whispered “don’t forget me.” “forget me.” this is going quite well it seems. -- Edited by lucas at 06:26, 2006-02-19
clever with the repeated echolalia. nice words. and yes, good thinking on the no ****ty lyrics thing.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
Well I'm sort of in the process of forming one with my best friend. We both do vocals and he plays the piano. I've been in bands in the past, like when I lived in Arizona. Right now its kind of in the works though
