| poem |
[09 Feb 2006|03:38pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 accomplished |
] |
Graduation Day
a day we become
free
or so
they say
do we become
free
or do we
merely
enter a new
prison?
perhaps a nicer
prison
with bigger
doors
but a prison
just the same
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| new poem, obviously directed at a specific person |
[27 Nov 2005|06:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 content |
] |
what we would do
i am a sinister being
do i scare you?
i walk in darkness
does that scare you?
i've seen
a minute
portion
of what you would do
for me
to have me
notice you
and for me
to be yours
here is what i would do
for you
for me to be yours
i would walk in light
for you
if that would make you happy
because you see
i want you
to fall in love with me
and if you already are
which i occasionally suspect
there is something
beautiful
waiting for you
and for me
waiting
just for us.
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| A Letter |
[11 Nov 2005|02:14pm] |
There were faded pictures of you at the bottom of the drawer next to some matchbooks and cards. It seems a night stand drawer is where a woman casts aside all her nostalgia that she wants close to her dreams. I took each and every one of those pictures back. They were meant for my dreams, not hers.
I'm being petty. You don't have to point this out again. I know when I'm being foolish, childish, greedy and petty. You never stop pointing it out so I've become better at noticing it myself. According to your thought process I never noticed.
How come you never thought for one minute I did these things with intent? How could you not think I wasn't being malicious?
You accuse me of being so many other things why not believe I could be cruel in other ways?
Maybe it is time to make a checklist. Perhaps? I think so. So far you have seen me as; a drunk, a cheater, a liar and a killer. I would figure it would be easy to think these other things of me if you already have your mind made up about me being a drunken, lying, murdering slut.
Contrary to what you have your mind made up on I'm neither. I didn't fuck your sister, I didn't go out drinking with your brother that night, I didn't tell your new girlfriend lies to get her away from you and I never slept with another soul.
I love you more than words can express and I would never lie to you. This is what really happened. . .
Your girlfriend did sleep with your brother after she got in from a night of drinking with your sister. I never came home that night, it wasn't me, it was your new girlfriend who woke you up with a blow job at five in the morning. If you opened your eyes when you got head you may have realized the difference. Your new girlfriend was supposed to come pick me up but left me stranded so I had to call your brother to pick me up.
Now I finally get to tell you the truth. I apologize for the dirt and the sloppy handwritting. It took so many years to crawl out of that hole they put me in. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive my sister for taking my place and destroying your life by replacing it with the hellish new one.
I have forgiven her for destroying my life. If you see her again, could you tell her I took the pictures and could you also tell her it was a fair exchange for her taking my life. No one is going to find me. I don't want to be found. Jail won't provide the hell that awaits her when she looks into your eyes again.
I am sorry once more but remember something. . .
I TOLD YOU THAT BITCH WAS CRAZY
-Your loving wife
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[13 Oct 2005|04:49pm] |
THE GIRL ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR
a poem in four parts
introduction
whether it be
the child in us
the parts
that are so
completely and totally
humiliating
that we wish
they would go away
or if it is our
whole selves
like this
horrible incidence
or the girl
on the bathroom
floor,
there is a small
part of us
that always wants
to end up
lying there.
part one
becoming the memory
the slashing
of her razors
on her legs
her arms
her stomach
her feet
to make that blood
come
that was
her relief
relief from that pain
that realization
that no one was ever
going to save her
that all her efforts
to change
had all been
completely futile
no one would notice
until she was gone
and became
only a memory
one that they
her family
her “friends”
would try to
block out:
the memory
of the girl
on the bathroom
floor.
part two
screaming, crying, dying
lying there
alone
on her bathroom
floor
shivering
shaking
trembling
terrified
of what she wanted
and was about
to do
she held
the long
pointed
beautiful
and silver knife
in her quivering hand
she touched its tip
to her smooth
porcelain
and untouched wrist
then
in a sudden burst
of madness
and courage
she stabbed
the long
pointed
beautiful
and silver knife
directly
into the lifeline
in her wrist
the pain
was excruciating
she screamed
she cried
and then
she died.
part three
the rescue that came too late
walking in
you see that
hideous
disturbing
sight
that is
the girl
on the bathroom
floor
what was
once
pretty
stunning
and even
beautiful
is now drowning
in that scarlet pool
that is her blood
why did no one
answer
the scream from hell
here you are
looking down
pulling out
that fateful
white sheet
loading her into
your ambulance
you are the rescue squad
the rescue
that came
far too late.
part four
delicate as the rose
now you stand there
looking down at her
now so clean
now so peaceful
how did it all
happen?
why did it all
happen?
did it even
really
happen at all?
now it’s time to go
you throw your white rose
as delicate as she was
and you never realized
and you never noticed
she was that desperate
and that alone
to become
nothing more
than the girl
on the bathroom
floor.
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[13 Oct 2005|04:43pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 cranky |
] |
waste
what a waste
a waste of time
a waste of space
a waste of matter
a wasted place
nothing there
not anymore
who said
it would stop?
who said
it would go away?
not the waste
the waste of time
the waste of space
the waste of matter
the wasted place
me
the waste of time
the waste of space
the waste of matter
the wasted place
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| Hello? |
[14 Jul 2005|10:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 curious |
] |
Has anyone here ever read any of the books in the Southern Vampire Series by Charlaine Harris? If so...which books did you read and what did you think of them?
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| This one was written late Sept. of '04 |
[17 Jun 2005|07:16pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 bored |
] |
Wake up
Then break down in your silent suicide
A cold, white bedsheet morning
A dusty window night
What is your time and place?
Slice the veins
Use them to write the story's end
But too many blank pages are left over
Dream your last dream
Give in to your desire
And fall into a never-ending nightmare
Selfishly leaving everything behind
Don't you see the signs?
You're not meant to be a tragedy
The mask doesn't fit your face
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| Poem |
[15 Jun 2005|01:59pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
crappy |
] |
What is one of your favorite poems?
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| 1 thru 12 |
[30 May 2005|04:38pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
creative |
] |
Yo, this is Steve from GUW aka: SurvivingMengele. For those of you who may not know several months ago (November 04') I started writing poetry that was based on a concept character (with no name). I have completed 12 of 14 parts to the story of this characters life.
Here they are in order:
( My PoemsCollapse )
Steve -
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| review |
[23 May 2005|04:08pm] |
I just finished reading for a second time The book of illusions by Paul Auster.
I rarely read twice my books except when I want to analyze them for some school project. In those occasions, my reading isn't one of pleasure, but one of studies. It doesn't stop me from enjoying the book, but it's never the same. It's mostly work, and although it's always an amazing feeling to be able to prove an argument you elaborated about one of the meanings of the book, although it is amazing to discover clues that will lead you to a deeper understanding of the story and how it was constructed and what it is hiding, it is never as relaxing as a strictly leisure kind of reading.
This time though, even as I was studying the book for yet another school project, I fell in love with the story for a second time. This reading was as amazing as the first time my eyes devoured those words. It was even better because this time, I saw many, many things i didn't see in the first place.
Paul Auster, since the very first book I read from him, always has been my favorite author. I loved deeply each and every one of his books. The book of illusions is still my favorite of them all. And while I was studying it, I finally saw why Auster, with that book, took my heart away.
( deeper analysisCollapse )
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| A short one. |
[22 May 2005|10:35pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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tired |
] |
Tinted-window
Shifts and stares
Cries
But does it care?
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[18 May 2005|06:28pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
relaxed |
] |
i wrote this a couple years ago sucks but wahts your opinion
it turns the corner
creeping mysteriously
it dwindles along
crazily and furiously
it runs thru the corridor
jerks to the right better be aware
might give u a fright
it camps in your closet
it hides under your bed
it cowers the brave
makes seem living the dead
it makes tremble the stiff
and makes frightened the stern
when it comes around
all securities burn
this plague of the horrid
is strictly emotion
a horrible feeling
of fearful devotion
it makes weak the strong
and brings courage less fusion
and all that it is
a pathetic illusion
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| Beau Bonsoir ! |
[18 May 2005|02:12am] |
Bonsoir je suis nouveau dans cette communauté
Je vais partager un de mes textes, j'espère qu'il vous sera vous plaire.
Sorry but the story are in French only :(
Sorry this story is in French only :(
( Isildor le rêveurCollapse )
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[17 May 2005|11:27pm] |
sloppy joes are good things to eat
as long as you dont mind of getting meat
all over your shoes our on your face
its red and chunky, but tastes so great
sloppy joes are also good with drugs
i love my msg plain or with acid and shrooms
it makes glitter sparkles just appear
with happy snails out of thin air
the toaster brings us treats that are tasty
like buttered up waffles or tarty pastry
cover them in syrup or sometimes in blood
a finger or two in my chili seems so much more fun
chowder looks really yummy
like something i spewed right out of my tummy
but chili is better its spicy and hot
i took a dump and thats what i got
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| Here's another piece, i wrote this a few months ago. |
[17 May 2005|10:04pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
sore |
] |
Because we are each other's pain and pleasure
Smiles and tears are all the same
Our kisses scorch and scald our skin
The kind words are traps for the listener to fall in
You'll be the one i slash my wrists for in the end
With blood spatters on the wall
You will know your love stabbed my heart
Smothered and suffocating--breathless
We are choking on each other
But we want more, we ask for it
We scream for it
Kindred spirits, masochistic hearts
We are one in each other
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