  WorshipPast gloaming, with its auburn vault, a gloom of august murmurs bump against torn lips. "What's this?" you ask, suspicious, as occasion twists our plans from hands to holding. Tight, your hips brush scars I count to mark our nights: strings that rip and tug a common cusp of stars in sync--a land of coward souls. Constant, baffling days, stark with scant account, you vow to play with dust and dawn among our twilight god--our thanks for artistry. I pray without your words-- with gravity, bowing to my faith and asking you, again, to st Worship by `GeneratingHype
  Red DressThe store was not busy tonight. Customers wandered in and out, solitary dancers to the muzak that floated down the aisles. Cady watched them with unfocused eyes - her job didn't take a lot of concentration. "Good evening, ma'am, do you have Flybuys?" Hands moved automatically, packing groceries into plastic bags with unconscious precision. "That will be $11.90, thank you, have a good night. Good evening, sir, do you have Flybuys?" Her eyes focussed with a snap - he hadn't handed over a card. "Sir?" There weren't any groceries on the counter, either. "Sir?" The man's face was unremarkable, the kind of Red Dress by ~Queen-of-Marigold Previous PageNext Page
  Life CyclesFebruary 17, 2091 So, I start writing a journal once more. Who knows how long Ill keep going with it this time. Until death? That should be sooner rather than later, at this point. Which gets me, of course, to why I decided to start keeping a journal again. I have a brain tumor. I found out, officially, today. I suspected as much before, which is why I went to the doctor. Its kind of funny, really, that I actually did end up with a brain tumor. I should explain
No, wait, I shouldnt. Life Cycles by `BerylAlexandros Previous PageNext Page
  No More Life, No More LoveThe room was little and grey, except for some pictures on the walls. The sofa was anonymous, the tapestry old, and there were a couple of books with worn covers on a pair of selve. In a word, an ordinary apartment. Apart for the corpse left lying in a broken up position, obviously. So, what are we gonna to have today? said the man coming into the room. Murder, as you can see. But this time is definitely macabre.. The policeman who spoke moved away from the body, however without remove the gaze. How are you, Flain? added, finally looking at the detective. Not bad
or better, No More Life, No More Love by ~xCamix
  Mrs. Sarah BeecherHolding a sign that says Let Him Go To God! a sense of self-righteousness welled up inside the young Mrs. Sarah Beecher. It was time for her to leave the unsuccessful protest, this time regarding feeding tubes. The way she saw it, they were Satan's instrument to keep an innocent soul from the Lord. It was, after all, her anniversary, and she oneeded t hurry, for her husband would be expecting dinner when he returned home from teaching youth group. On her way home, Mrs. Beecher stoped by the supermarket to pick up salmon, asparagus, and red potatoes, her husbands favorite meal. She walked through the door, hung u Mrs. Sarah Beecher by ~trippedinahole
  Red DressThe store was not busy tonight. Customers wandered in and out, solitary dancers to the muzak that floated down the aisles. Cady watched them with unfocused eyes - her job didn't take a lot of concentration. "Good evening, ma'am, do you have Flybuys?" Hands moved automatically, packing groceries into plastic bags with unconscious precision. "That will be $11.90, thank you, have a good night. Good evening, sir, do you have Flybuys?" Her eyes focussed with a snap - he hadn't handed over a card. "Sir?" There weren't any groceries on the counter, either. "Sir?" The man's face was unremarkable, the kind of Red Dress by ~Queen-of-Marigold
  Paper Bird Paper Bird To move is to propose, initiate and accept or reject. And inside a single step, word or motion Lies the tiny flame of something more. In your hands you hold Creation, destruction, Power, fame, Happiness, riches and rags. Move it. Do it now! Make something! Make it wild, broken, bleed, angry and grieve Then tame it, fix it, heal it, soothe it and console it Submerge yourself slowly into the exercise Advance with precision into the flow Be constant and fluid with your gestures keeping perpetual motion. Ro Paper Bird by ~littlemissmoody
  Mid AugustMy mid August, Always looking so hollow. Through folios of a windy suffocation, It rings and it stings, As a musical corrugation. Whilst my blood drips As saliva chips, Human pupils turning fast. In this August affliction, My sun in transition, Turns into a moony cast. A cast of actors. Walking, somnambulant in our sky. Diffusing last days of warmth, As its curtain blocks my cry. Mid August, Still as hollow. My brook, Still as sorrow. Mid August by ~X-lesbian-X
  CloudPass, flying, through sky of various colours; so big, soft and bright, it's a quilt of light on an opal lawn. It can catch forms from our fantasy, and taking up pupils you'll look at scary dragons, fluffy animals, and thousands crazy things. It's simply amazing how it can turn from light to black, and surrounds us, bringing rain and rain. But why do I always look at you? Probably it's rain; slipping from you, falling on us, drops of your pain that you occasionally can't contain. Cloud by ~xCamix
  Duct SoupMa! A duct in our duck soup. Now all I did was stir it. I didnt think a duct would land in it. Cook it in? Crazy much? Ill still stir, but God! A duct is a nasty thing to slurp It should stay on a roll, not in a soup No, I dont think its tasty. Too much iron, disgusting Probably not nutritious, anyway What am I doing? Im writing a bit of this for it. Okay, this is a bad pun, But, Ill stick with it, Ma. Anyway, Im almost through. You ask, if I could do it again? No, I wouldnt say anything. I Duct Soup by ~TheLightsWentOutIn99
  Soul - LipogramA whirl of skin and howling sound, A flash, soon dark. A soul is found By spirits hiding in hard ground. Sky turns dark and soon, at first light, A man finds such a grim, harsh sight: Dry limbs of slightly slim, thin slight. Without a mind, and thoughts as sand, Our man walks away, shaking hand And frigid lips run cross this land. Tonight, his frigid lips turn dry, No mind to sob, nor wings to fly. This day, our man laid his soul by. A whirl of skin and howling sound, A flash, soon dark. A soul is found By spirits hidi Soul - Lipogram by =MaskedVengeance
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