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05 May 2011 @ 06:07 pm
 
Let's make it happen.
 
 
06 April 2011 @ 10:56 pm
 
Every time I part my lips
I get another taste of this
My tongue goes searching for your fingertips
The page slips from my grasping fist
And my words trip over themselves to find you

I'm once bitten and twice kissed
Every night I miss the slight tickle of your breath
On the back of my neck as you slept
And kept those secret scars to yourself until you wept
I miss catching you on the fall
 
 
31 March 2011 @ 12:40 pm
 
Waiting

Baby, I'm lying in wait
The stakes are set high and I'm taking the bait
I'll skate on your thin ice all day
Feeling all the undercurrents running from yesterday
I'll do all the pulling, but you've got the final say

Baby, my arms are open wide
Waiting for you to step inside
To catch you when you curl up and hide
I will lick the tears when you need to cry
Enfold you in my hiding place
In my escape I'll keep you safe
And scrape the dismal waste of waiting off your face

Baby, one more soft week
Sneaks by me in the street
And every new person I meet
Just ain't you
And baby, don't you know?
That I would go if you asked me to
Walk the line that you drew
And any other line that will ensue

Baby, I'm your blank page
And all of your world is my stage
We were made for each other
With your skin like butter and my words in the cloud cover
Old memories smothered to death
And I'm willing to love you under my breath
If that's what you need from me
 
 
24 December 2009 @ 01:18 pm
 
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
12:14am

She Said
She said, "Just because I kissed you doesn't mean I miss you."
And then the hiss sprang blissfully into my ears
And I could hear the roar
And what's more
I opened my own goddamn sores
With sterilized surgeon's knives
And I let her have the meat inside

She said, "Just because I missed you doesn't mean I love you."
And there it was
The melting, butter soft core
Of everything she had in store
The rolling, undulating
Screaming, souped-up, calculating
Crystalline breath on the cold window
Heart-to-heart palpitating
In a depth so vast it was suffocating

"Just because I love you doesn't mean you have me," she said
And right then the colors just bled
Right off the walls, under her sultry tread
Right there, instead, I crept/slept/wept my way back to bed
Unrestrained, and finally reaching just the right pitch
Right hand twitching
Left brain completely giving up
Dreams scattered and scuffed, turning red
"Just because I'm here doesn't mean I won't leave,"
she said.
 
 

I wrote this for a challenge in my school's writing club (started by moi!). Here is the list of criterea I had to fill:
  1. The story must have a fox in it.
  2. The story must involve a bolt of cloth at the beginning.
  3. A character fakes a skill, but the intention bhind the action is not what it seems.
  4. A character becomes joyous during the story.
  5. During the story, a character finds a long-lost friend.

2,519 wordsCollapse )

 
 
 
02 August 2008 @ 11:52 pm
It's a trick, you see
To think that you and I might be meant to be
It's our chemistry playing tricks on us
Neither your nor I would have the guts
To toe the line and face each other
Throw spit and sand into the cuts
Until maybe we could both adjust
And trust one another

I would rather play the fool
And watch you lose your cool
Slip into a whirlpool of pretty phrases
And tasteless graces
Aching in the pressure to see me naked
Because you can't face it

See, you honey me up
And paint me ever shade of red and pink and purple
Suck in the stuff
That might make me think the less of you
It's just not true
That you and I might be meant to be
 
 
24 July 2008 @ 02:10 pm
Smoking stories are stories short enough that you can read them through as you smoke one cigarette.

.....

I didn't want to go in there. I knew that's where I would find my body. Wet, still warm, covered in gold coins.

It had been a sort of accident. We had bathed ourselves and loved each other enough to wish each other out of our flesh. Her gold curls and my straight black hair, lovely though they were, were not enough. I told her she was beautiful, and now she had to get rid of it.

Being naked was not enough. Having a bath where there shouldn't be one, was also not enough. Now that we had let the blood out, I was frightened of finding myself, of haunting my body, even though I knew it wasn't me.

I didn't know what she would look like without her gleaming hair. I couldn't find her anywhere.
 
 
02 April 2008 @ 11:29 pm
my toes are a smidge too crooked
my smile never makes it to the eyes
and droops
after the lips
self-aware that the double chin is right there beneath it
my voice rings like the dull noise of soda cans clanking against the ground
and my hair is never in place
never even
never the right color to complement my porous face
I am a study in asymmetry
my eyes even use their handicap in a camera flash
and my lips are so bitten that I lick my blood while flicking my crooked bottom teeth

I am all flaws and tears and screams and yet all part of this Byzantine scheme
A woman, fragmented bits of conjoined flesh, reflecting light bouncing off a mirror
onto a page
 
 
25 February 2008 @ 11:19 am
He'd walk into the pet shop wearing that old overcoat of his sporting a mess of a beard and smelling of cheap stale wine and would confess his sins into the airholes of plexiglass cages housing unwanted cats and depressed dogs. He wore a sort of vacuum-like aura around him as people would clear and watch him with the corner of their eyes whispering warnings to their children. Eventually the employees would catch on and usher him out of the store in frightened desperation. But within a few hours he'd always be back, like a pesky shadow, to whisper his sins to the animals. Every so often a tear would roll down his cheek and get lost in his beard and he'd clam up for a moment or two as if crying inside. No one knew what he was saying. I don't think even the animals understood.

One snowy night in February during a snow storm of record proportion the boiler in the basement of the shop failed and caught aflame. By dawn nothing was left but jagged remnants of wood frame and melted plastic and charred bones and ashes. That very day he showed up for the last time, stumbled into the wreckage and proceeded to scoop up and eat the snow and ashes as if they were memories he wanted to keep inside him. He died soon after.

When the doctors cut him open they found the animals inside him. It was as if they had somehow been reassembled. Cats and dogs. Packed together like some sort of biological jigsaw puzzle. At first they appeared dead but then, inexplicably, thawed back to life under the warmth of the hospital lights. As for the rest of him there was nothing there but bones with skin stretched over them like a canvas sack. They buried what was left in potter's field.

Within a few days they found a pit where the grave had been. Judging by the way the soil had been dug out and the tracks in the area it seemed like a pack of dogs had dug up his corpse during the night. The body was gone and it was speculated that the dogs had eaten what little was left. But no one could explain the strange marks leading away from the pit that looked something akin to footprints left by bare human feet.
 
 
25 February 2008 @ 11:17 am
It was dark out and raining and he sat under a makeshift roof fashioned from stolen plywood nailed together and suspended in the air by ropes tied to the branches of the tree under which he sat a lone light bulb hanging by a wire thread lighting his head and the pages. It was a little shack he built in secret amidst man sized patches of unnamed grass somewhere away from everything. Its walls built from junk and metal and whatever else he could find at odd hours of the night.

The light flickered. And went out. He looked up. About a foot away was a crack in the walls and through it he could see the moon. He stared at its pale face for a while and put the book down. Asked himself what to do next he answered back and sighed and made his way through a plastic curtain sheet that was the only door to the rickety chamber. Out and about.

He made his way through the grass until he reached a dirt road and followed it to the crossroads eyes open for car lights and the green flashes of cat eyes as they wandered silently like shadows in the cool night chasing dreams in the breeze. Standing right dead center inbetwixt the four way coupling of road he saw a wide concrete building to his left looming like a lonely shadow breaking the even face of the distant horizon. No windows but concrete slabs as walls for the first floor and then the second floor jutting out in a balcony. He saw beds of children laid out them curled up under covers with rain falling on their heads for the roof did not stretch out that far. It reminded him of a dream he had once.

He made his way towards the bunker. Foot after foot on soil and marsh and puddles and grass. The path lit by the moon and serenaded by the constant patter of rain drops and the songs of crickets and frogs. In his dream the building was lit on one side by a string of fluorescent bulbs strung up with wires like some sort of makeshift christmas decoration in early october. It seemed so clear now even after all these years. He's had many dreams then. And even more that were lost to the fleeting wind of memory. Cities and citadels and men and minotaurs and everything amidst a cool haze that hung low over the streets luminated by a permanent twilight.