Discussion Creative Writing Megathread

[Jorms_McGander]

Hello folks; I've been a writer since the single digits. I don't have any of my older material left. He's something I wrote a few years back. I thought people here might identify with it:

trigger warning for abuse.

POINTED

Every thing you read is pointed, whether or not the author knows;
The barbs were notched and the springs were loaded decades ago.
Like a puffer fish navigating its hazardous world, sleek among the rocks,
Hiding its spines like a thistle-- like a lover's pointed tongue;
Or a startled porcupine diving into the grass, with pointed quills rattling.
The border between ice and air is an everchanging mass of needle-fine points.
Hope points toward the future and recollection points toward the past.
The hands of wicked adults drawn by damaged children
......End in pointed fingers.
.............Every single thing is pointed.

edit for formatting, sorry about the periods.

 

[ElectronicPoet]

I wrote this back in January in a burst. I'm aware of my status as an amateur; my only hope is that it doesn't come off as purple or pretentious. I've edited it to hell and back now, but I do find it a bit aimless.

The sun sinks into the sea, and the orange is a shade nigh crimson. It's familiar and brutal; its process is beyond my control. It's a world where the stars are bled dry, coughing as they clutch for their sparkle. Where the moon is cloaked in tar, its cresent a black smile. When I fear the sky, I lower my head and find ground too vast for my feet, a thousand roads ahead and behind, but I am too paralyzed to step forward.

A mountain of thorny brush blocks every trail. Their tendrils revive my failures and stripe my cheeks in crimson agony; yet while my arms flail to fend off shame, the dense ones aim for my throat and squeeze. But amidst the anguish are the ones that ghost my spine, that seduce me backwards, that caress me from afar with a prickly underbelly. I reach, but my hands turn up empty; my hands cannot keep what isn't tangible.

The distraction keeps me complacent, trapped between the push and pull of apathy and want, beneath the death of serenity, as the pink swirls anew. I am powerless with the knowledge that the cycle will reset.

The sun rises, but only halfway.

For me it reflects life with a debilitating hormonal condition/PMDD as well as my circumstances.

This is beautiful <3

 

[viljalauss]

think this is over 2 years old but i stil rather like it:

up the hill, now.

to accept my own death is to know the true weight of my steps, the weight of the paths my mind has taken, take them in, know they are true, and see clear. to hear all layers of sound and the resonances of the ground that shimmers beneath me; the voice within, first obstruent, now balanced; the middle voice, just around and above, where rubber against concrete against birdsong meet and converge; the highest voice that pushes the bounds of earthly and breathable air. all i lived to seek, a place to pay full mind with no fear of harm.

there is no noise.

and a song i wrote: (the name is ophan, it's on spotify under hellvie, though it's not too well produced so you may be better off just reading it)

Spoiler: ophan

as below, so above, with the crushing fall
see the face of god part the fog (in turning wheels of fire)
eyes up! see your better half
curling stars, coiled pain in wait

see your shadow-weight, layer of mire choke the skies, ache as flooded clay,
wet with moisture and aborted voices
break off, sink in cavernous teeth, and tear at seraphim

(ah) you spirit-parody, you failure
twisted light, leaking poison
abject in agony, decayer
watch it writhe as it's anointed

as above, so below, so it aches, so it harrows,
bleed the open throat, expiate a stolen frame, broken
blood to bone, flesh to stone
your grave is a cosmic stain
sending pain through planes, your presence
pushing out the earth, roots to searing veins
rivers cauterised, their mouths fill with ash and grains
sunken shadows of the time you lost, ripped away

(skin breaks) you spirit-parody, you failure
(blood breaks) twisted light, leaking poison
(limbs break) abject in agony, decayer
(clean away) watch it writhe as it's anointed

skin breaks // sose gelimida sin
blood breaks // sose gelimida sin
limbs break // sose gelimida sin
clean me away

 

[Cloud Busting]

Im not good at writing poetry. I will never live up to Dickinson, Plath, nor Poe. I wrote this short, shitty poem I like tho. I suppose it doesn't matter if it's good. I wrote it for me.

There's no reason to fear
And no need for alarm
For I am now living fully
And thus safe from harm

 

[Paranorm]

"Questions"

Spent my life scrutinized
Who am I? you decide
On my mind suicide
All the time, should I die?
I talk about death and they're laughing, why?
Does it stop being funny if I actually died?
Sticks and stones break my bones
But your words hurt my soul
Does that make me soft? I guess
My heart is on my sleeve and not my chest
I run from pain but I don't get far
But how do I feel pain with a broken heart?

 

[real human being]

silence

how to stop feeling this feeling
stop seeing this seeing
the heart wants for a last small
sweetness joy or silence
the mind longs for the release
and soon rises the moon
as love surreal was but a dream
to dream anew without I

 

[moondazed]

I was looking through my notes for some of my bad poetry, but found this this fable I wrote last year.

The Fox and the Dove

There was once a dove who flew at night. She loved the night because it was quiet and peaceful, but she never felt alone. So long the as her friend, the moon, was in the sky. One day however, the moon began to float away. The dove became confused, "Why, dear Luna, do you leave me?"

Eventually, her friend was gone. This night in particular was the most terrible of all. When she flew that night, she could not see well, she didn't know where she was going.

A rumbling inside her started to grow. The dove began to furiously fly. No control. No thought. Only empty air and a deafening darkness. She became lost, and it dawned on her that she did know her way home.

Defeated, she perched on a nearby tree. She pondered these feelings of loneliness and abandonment, and as they washed over her, she reached her beak into her wings and tore away. The pain sent her tumbling off the branch onto the leave strewn ground below, and she fell unconscious.

The next morning she awoke, to her surprise as well as terror, to a fox sniffing her. The young fox was small and feeble, likely lost from its pack, she thought, and awfully interested in the injured dove.

"Don't hurt me!" the dove exclaimed.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Can you find my family for me?"

Feeling some sympathy in the moment, and seeing this as an opportunity to escape, she tried to fly, but a sharp pain in her wing prevented her from lifting.

"I… I can't fly."

"But you're a dove, that's what you do." The fox replied, confused.

"I can't, I'm sorry. My wings are clipped."

"Who would do that to you?! A beautiful dove is meant to fly."

"I… I did it to myself." The dove sank to the ground. "My only friend left me. She was always there for me, bringing light to my darkness, and she left. What is the point of flying alone in the dark?"

"I'll be your friend, I'm lost too." the fox picked up the bird and placed her on his back.

"Thank you…" the dove said hesitantly, knowing this fox could swallow her in an instant.

The fox then began to run and the dove became even more scared. "He must be taking me to his family… oh no! I must be dinner" she thought to herself as she began to panic. All the memories of the night earlier rushed back. "I did this to myself. This is all my fault. I deserve this."

"Hey dove!" The fox called to her "Spread your wings!"

"Why? So it's easier for you to eat me?!"

"No silly! It will be fun. Just trust me."

The dove knew this sly fox was up to something. Just playing with his food, fit for a child. But out of solutions, she spread her wings.

"Now close your eyes"

Immediately after closing her eyes, the dove could feel the winds rushing through her feathers. She imagined the night sky with the trees below. As she drifted through the air, she saw her skyward friend again - but as quickly as the memories appeared, they again became dark, as even the moon in her mind began to disappear.

"NO! NOT AGAIN!" She cried, and threw herself off the foxes back.

As she tumbled to the ground, the fox stopped and turned around and said "You have to stop hurting yourself. You'll never be able to fly if you keep this up."

"Well, I'll never be able to fly again anyway. What's the point? I clipped my wings. I did this to myself."

"You're and awfully stubborn little bird aren't you? Look, I stepped on a sharp rock last week. I couldn't even walk the next day, but today, I helped you fly. It was hard and hurt to even try for awhile, but look at me now! We're not so different. Just try."

The Dove sighed at his juvenile attempt. "But I am no fox. I can't just walk it off. There is no point, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop patronizing me."

The foxes eyes grew sad. "I suppose I can't help you then." He said as he turned around and trotted away.

The dove watched as the fox disappeared, just like the moon did. "Everyone leaves. This is really what I deserve." She thought to herself as she drifted back to sleep.

Some hours later the dove woke again to the fox, carrying a twig with berries. "I thought you might be hungry" he said, dropping them next to her.

"It's almost night, want to try to fly again?"

"Why are you still helping me?"

"I don't know, I like you."

"You really don't want to eat me?"

"Of course not. You are too beautiful, and probably taste bad anyway." The fox let out an obnoxious cackle.

"I… I guess we can try again."

As the dove ate some berries, she felt her energy start to return, and the fox once again placed her on his back. The dove closed her eyes and spread her wings.

She felt the wind pass between her feathers again, the pain in her wing was still there but was now less noticeable. She began to feel at peace.

They did this over the next few days. Soon, the dove was able to gain some lift and gracefully glide down onto the foxes back. The dove felt free again. She remembered how blissful the night sky was, she remembered the cool air and the gentle light from the moon, without the pain of her absence.

The two broke out of the dense forest and into a meadow. "Look! Open your eyes!" The fox yelled out.

The dove saw in the sky the moon, shining bright and lighting everything around in a dim yet brilliant display amongst the wildflowers.

"Go! Fly!" the fox encouraged.

As the dove rose into the air she flapped her wings, the pain still present but the sight of her dear Luna gave her the strength to push through. Soon, the pain was gone and tears of joy and love and bliss washed over her.

"She never left you, dear dove!" The fox barked from below. "Fly like you were meant to!"

The dove, filled with excitement, danced in the sky, twirling through the drafts in a complex pirouette with the winds.

Distracted with her dance, she suddenly remembered about the fox. "Where are you my friend!? Thank you for this gift, this second chance!"

But there was only silence. The fox had disappeared back into the forest.

The dove flew all night with the moon. Her wings as strong as ever, she made her way back home. She rested for a few days, spent time with her flock and assured them that she was safe, but dared not speak of the fox.

Some days later, she flew back to the forest looking desperately for her new friend. And alas, she saw a family of foxes playing in the same adjacent meadow. She recognized her friend, and as he fell over playing with his pack, he saw her and paused, letting out a sly cackle and a smile, as if waving to her.

There was once a dove who flew at night, and she never felt alone.

Im not good at writing poetry. I will never live up to Dickinson, Plath, nor Poe. I wrote this short, shitty poem I like tho. I suppose it doesn't matter if it's good. I wrote it for me.

There's no reason to fear
And no need for alarm
For I am now living fully
And thus safe from harm

I love a short and sweet poem. I have a plethora of them locked away only for me to see. It's just nice to write them out, the process and what have you, regardless of what others think. I think this is nice and affirming, as any good poem is

 

[Scythe]

I've got two poems as well. Most of my poems come from my intrusive thoughts that ramble in poetic rhythm.


At the end of despair.
There blooms the flowers of rot,
from the corpses of the ones that came before.
The flowers are not hope,
nor can they ease your suffering.
They are simply there,
because there will always be beauty in aboslute.
They are simply there,
so you can witness beauty,
as your body join the ones that came before.


Paint my clothes red and gold,
display my passion, show off my pride.
Paint my body black and blue,
mark my sins and mark my vows.
Crave up my flesh, skin and bone,
well earned punishment of a cowardly mistake.

 

[tiger b]

Fake House


Fake House
Nothing to protect
And nothing protected.

Paper walls,
Missing roof,
Unlocked door.

It was built
In an era
That never was.

Beautiful silence
Never heard
By someone who was never there.

Let's imagine:

This full stop
In space and time
You long to be
A question mark.

Let sunlight feebly stream
Through cracked pains
Onto worn blue carpet.
Stubborn, rotten.
Dying.

Yet the sun didn't rise today
And it won't rise tomorrow.

One thing only dwells inside.
It isn't protected
And never requires it.

Beautiful silence
Never heard.
But you were there.

 

[tiger b]

50 Minutes Ago Online (A True Pointless Confession)

I typed something,
Riposte to a crazy person,
A crazy post
About a crazy world.

Insanity
Comforting, infectious
Provoking words that were noxious
I forgot to forget I'm unkind.

50 minutes ago
I succumbed to who I thought I was
Arguing, chaining us in our prisons
Pseudo Satan's righteous gaoler.

Now I remember myself
I'm taking the easy option
Deleting one mistake
Instead of deleting the other.

 

[gonegirl1]

There's something biting my soul
And I don't know what it is
There's something biting my soul
I don't know what it is

Today I feel so low
Like a bug is pressed in my chest
I try to know where it came from
It keeps there that's all it is

I got remorse in my words
But why, if they are just truth?
Is it because they don't get it
The ways of my burning youth

There's fire on their brains
And there's justice in my road
I follow through it believing
I'll wake up their dying souls



Another bad one:

Now how can I explain it to you
I think you already now
That my heart is just blue

All that a girl have learned
Is what I naturally do
I don't trust no one
So I can't trust you too

You know you're just alright
Your soul lights up my fire
But I've been alone too long
It's hard to cover the wound

You said you were a lonely worm
I am one too
I learned how to hide
Just when I need to
And I pretend, I feel the warmth
It does me good
But my dreams they're where I live
And I walk the streets alone
That's where I belong

Today I thought of you
And I missed your smile
That must be a good sign

Im afraid I don't know how to love
And I told you I'm afraid of never stop
Being afraid
So
Just stay here with me
Teach me, please
If you can see the beauty
You'll feel my strange breeze
It's all I am
And all I'm ever going to be

In the summer
Driving to the beach
My hand on the wind
And my hair bleached
I don't have to exist
I am the star
Of my own movie
My own glitch
Such a cliche

 

[morendo]

15/09/23 0006 - Bed

Each second's passing
a needle into the heart
blood: no taste of iron

08/10/23 0031

Night skies like: black, blue,
cold, dark. Inside: uncertain
teardrops-

08/10/23 2241

the darkest darknesses
start as lights - the same shimmering lights
as the brightest stars


10/10/23 2244

Life; water, water, water, water,
water, opiates, water, water, water, water,
water, water, fire, steam, air


favourite 4 haikus from last 2 months

 

[tiger b]

Cheesium 2axb: Destroyed

Cheesy mash mountains streaming out gravy
Ramen rain forests conceal jellybabies
Under skies filled with sherbet dipped feathers
A fifty foot tall squirrel named Heather.

Diseases are tasty and fractures are salty
Injuries all healed by swimming in balti
Battleships patrol custardly streets
Road raging atomic chocsheep.

Children grow sideways and kittens puke lava
And teenagers resemble misshapen guavas
Adults are spaces that suck in the light
While pensioners sweat soup all night.

The queen knights thee
With a golden shower
Live on TV.

"Thanks for coming, thanks for recognising us"
Your creation, before you caught the bus.

How stupid, you say!
Your visa is revoked.

Heather will chase you until her last breath
If she does catch you, you'll feel crunchy death
Spending a fantasy life on the run
That's the curse of imagination.

I'm so hungry.

 

[Paranorm]

"Sensitive"

I hide my pain cause I'm afraid they'll call me sensitive
But I face so much of it that I should be put on a sedative
Maybe tear my heart out to detach myself from sentiment
I just can't fit in, maybe I'd be more respected if
I gained a new perspective on life
Déjà vu, this talk of change has become repetitive
So I'm convinced I can't be normal, Antisocial, pessimist
Been thinking it'd be best for my life If I ended it

 

[tiger b]

Coffee Shop Pretensiousistical Apex-ism

Step inside the soya latte
A place to gather, elevate, dissect
Fairtrade beans to salve the conscience
Human pyramid isn't there
Yes, we really care.

Swear allegiance to equality
That man looks dirty
No she's not sitting there.
Born a silent sexist fascist,
Takes a cushion for his chair.

Thoughts arrive like inbox junk mail,
Uzi bullets in a nursery.
Don't discriminate against icebergs
Cuddle rotting fish.
I shouldn't eavesdrop.

We speak.
Anything beyond yes and no is pretension, a denial.
Rebranding, reframing is just considerate polishing.
Pass the sugar, please.

Anything with an ism
Must be cancelled, excommuted,
Excommunicated.
Those with ears must cut them off and eat them.
Undesirable untermensch sullies the message.

Equality through hating everything.
Don't be judgemental.
I am the judge and I am mental.
I cannot find my tribe
There's nowhere to hide.

The subject of scorn defies me
The object of projection defines me
All forms of protestation defile me
Self-harm and condemnation.

I am silenced.
I am brick.
The coffee tastes like sick.

Step outside
A virtuous escape to pornography,
Then beer and beans for tea.

 

[tiger b]

Log Out

There's no way around it
You're filling holes with holes
Everything's a reason
Until it's time to go

Feeling alienation
Feeling so alone
Taste the brief connections
But still you're on your own

The light that shone upon you
Was never really there
Keeping up appearances
Pretending not to care

So you were heartbroken
When the penny finally dropped
It all adds up to zero
The world cannot be stopped.



Divided and Conquered

Division, division, I'm sick of division
What makes me unique makes it all bleak
Every cell in this hell that cries repetition
Tyrannical cancers deserving derision.

So we fight.
Every country, every household
Every relationship a fragile uneasy truce.
We even fight against the fighting.

The biological comedy
Wanting everything to be ourselves
Yet needing it different
For evolution towards...what?
A more cruelly comprehensive dystopia.

I tell you this:
If there were even two twins left
Upon this rotting meatball
There'd still be nuclear war.

Fuck their revolution.
Nothingness is the only unity.

 

[traumer]

She promises that it doesn't hurt.
I've seen her. a soul, is full of dirt.
Nothing makes up for a divided heart.
At the end, she is all torn apart.

She will not be able to mourn no more.
Tormented, the things you ever cared for.
The circles you spoke in, never stopped the war.
You were an apple reduced to the core.

The only world I wasn't meant to reach for.
The only one I did not need to be whole.
I'm afraid I will never find my way home.
Knowing you is merely to be remold.

As I unfeel, love turns into mockery,
To witness a corpse or to be killed gentilly.
Forgetting a past works so much differently.
At the end, you just take her hand and set her free.

A winning soul is only to be seen.
Rest is opposite to the duty of being.
Making me the one, wounds that inform my nature
Maybe I was the one choosing this torture.


a poem i wrote while playing slay the princess ♡

 

[Kore]

Thought I'd share something I wrote recently after listening to dramatic music and day dreaming, hope somebody enjoys

If anyone was interested, I wrote it while listening to this GREAT song suggested to me by @JKFleck :




Freedom for the caged soul
He opened his eyes. The wind was coursing past his face. His body felt sleek, light, his heart thundering the rhythm of life. He glanced left, then right. Wings spread wide as he soared through the sky. As the wind caught his feathers, he felt at one with the heavens. He twisted and arced, throwing his wings one way then another as he banked and rolled. Gliding, he looked down. Despite the ground being so far below, he could see every blade of grass. His eyes were laser focused, no detail unseen. Heart racing, he made up his mind. He pulled his wings in towards his back, and dove. Faster, faster he flew, pouring down towards the earth at staggering speed. He saw his prey, clearly, a small shadow darting through the grass. Speed ever increasing, ground rushing towards him, at the very last second he snapped his wings out, fast as the crack of a whip, his dive suddenly pulled into a hairpin turn mere inches from the ground, the sun glinting off the talons that now gripped his quarry as he raced back towards the empty sky.

Snow-capped mountains loomed ahead, rich valleys twisting and winding away. Soaring closer, ever higher, he rode the waves of the wind to the closest peak. Lazily pulling one wing up, he began to spin. Barrel rolling, the world flashing past, the air rushing through his feathers as he plummeted down, down, faster, reckless, thought abandoned, then snap! His wings cracked out and carried his weight, flattening into a smooth glide above the canopy of trees below. He extended his talons, brushing along the tips of the leaves as he sped past. He was alive, the world was his, all was speed and energy and motion.

He ducked his head and spun down into the forest, weaving and skirting through the maze of branches, following the valley. Beast and bug fled, moss and vines disturbed in the vortex of air, it was as if the forest itself had no desire to stand in his way. The rumbling was the first sign, the mist the second, then he cleared the last of the trees and surged into the clearing, eyes focused on the roiling stream as it spilled through the land, towards the edge. He slowed as he neared the end, pulling up, almost coming to a stop until he could see past the brink. In the space of a breath he took in the abyss beneath, the water tumbling into darkness. Abruptly extending a wing he spun mid-air, inverting himself as he began to descend. He raced the waterfall, racing gravity itself, his shadow on the water as insubstantial as his mortality felt. This was everything. Flight of the broken mind. Freedom for the caged soul.

Once again, dangerously close to the last second, he banked sharply above the ocean and let his momentum propel him forward in a spray of mist. Sun setting, he glided above the waters, the land behind growing distant. Looking down, his reflection was mighty, his eyes afire. Onwards he glided. Endlessly.

••••••••••

He opened his eyes, took in the grey walls around him, and wordlessly got up. A poster of an eagle hung loosely in the corner. He spent a moment looking at it, as if trying to remember something. He shook his head. Donning his clothes, he stepped out into the rain, and headed to work. Until the next night, he waits.

 

[sundown12]

i write poems from time to me, so I wanted to share this with you

i'm scared of death but i have welcomed
the free fall of my own demise
sometimes i think that i am better
off without my broken mind
i have instilled a sense of dread
into the selfhood of my being
sometimes i think that being dead
is closer than my own forgiving
and i can't sleep or rest at night
i feel like time is all i'm given
this life has given me stage fright
and an emotional upheaval

 

[lifteddream]

a trembling arm raised, cautious fingers outstretched brushed death
fear sent thunderbolts cracking through your heart
the fragmented pieces held by their fleshy surroundings
a human body with its north star shattered
despair grows like a dark mold, until it is all consuming

 

[logout_how_do]

I wrote a poem some time ago. it's acrostic to explain what it talks about just by its form. It's not that good i guess, as I tried to make it rhyme, but I still like it.

Shadow Of The Past

This demon of mine,
fight it, seal it,
put it in a shrine.

Reveal the darkness,
don't hide away,
let the light be

Ushered in, any dark day.
Let peace and warmthe
rest in your core,

May you be strenghtened
and continue to fight.
Let this be your motto, your war cry for

Avenging yourself -and as for
this demon of mine:
fight it, seal it,
put it in a shrine.

 

[bungalow13]

Born to die.. purpose for pleasure, no purpose in pleasure. Consume, use to then be used and consumed.

Live is hyped up distraction. Distraction from no true purpose.. humans, a mass of recaring shadows. The cycle moves forward and all ends in the abyss.

 

[ixkitty]

I used to write many moons ago. My cousin said I should start back.. it's just a whole rambling right now but ..

I can't seem to get a good footing on life
It's almost like I was given a different disadvantage than the others
Being told exactly how to fix a problem but not having the tools to fix the problem which makes the problem worse
They have the tools I need but I've never used them before despite watching them almost every day use those very tools to fix whatever they need and they make it look flawless

But.. I can't seem to hold a good grip on myself
It's almost like I was implanted with a different need than the others
This inescapable urge to help anyone in need when they request it and being okay with getting the crumbs of nothing in return and running low on the energy for myself because I can't help but to give it away like a cursed tic and as I wither away into the nothingness silently because I can't rip the silence from my own lips

I reflect radiance, kindness, hope, and peace
At least that's what I've been told my whole life
So I should keep struggling because I help so many people in such an indirect way. I should keep walking on the nails because who knows when someone sill need to see my smile so they can be okay
So I should continue to give my air, my very essence away until I'm an empty shell
So what if I'm hurting and drowning and bleeding as long as that stranger gets what they need i should be fine, right?

So now, What expectation am I to follow next? What disadvantage should I inadvertently allow upon my being? What new wound should I expect now? What tool will I be missing now?

 

[darkestdreamsx]

idk what this would be labeled as, but i wrote it in july.



can't keep a job
always disappoint my mom
can't suck it up for a few bucks
take my mental health too seriously
always failing to fit in to society
didn't finish school
to get a degree
so i could sit my ass on the top of the organizational chart
comfortably
immorally
working for a company that i could give a shit about
or could they give a shit about me
they tell us to go to college so we can get a job that'll pay the bills
what they don't tell us is how we'll be miserable, still
work hard, put in the effort , come home no time for family hours
repeat it again 5 times a week and hopefully this weekend you've got time to sleep
cause you're behind on the chores, the house is a mess
you've missed out on a few family events
you still can barely afford to pay rent, your car note is overdue, eating ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner too
elders telling us to save and push through
save what? when all my bills are already overdue.
mentally we're struggling, financially too.
when will they acknowledge it? our society's screwed.
majority of us on drugs to numb us through the pain
saying we as a generation don't know how to work hard
when they paying us wages that barely even fuel our cars
meanwhile the rich flaunt it in our faces
brag about they money all the time
they don't realize the majority of us are struggling to survive

 

[Rogue Proxy]

Would this be a good thread to post recipes? If so, I'm thinking about posting a WPS document of my favorite recipes that I have created and tested out.

 

[Angel of Spades]

Sure, why not?

I wrote a three poem story set once upon a time about love and heartbreak:

1. first

you took my heart;
you didn't know,
i didn't even know,

but you had it all the same
thumping in the palm of your hand.
it was yours
it had always been yours,
it just took me some time to get it to you.

it wasn't hard,
it wasn't painful,
neither of us even realized it
but you took my heart out from inside my chest,
wrested it from the cage of my ribs,
untangled it from the wired mess of my arteries and veins,
and held it in the palm of your hand.

2. next

you stole away my feelings:
my happiness relied on you,
my sadness was shared with you,
my pain was yours.

i always made sure to take pity
have some mercy
on your heart.
you didn't seem to hold the same ideas

for my heart,
battered and bruised,
bleeding and broken,
it beat for you.

you squeezed it in your hands,
rolled it around between your palms,
tossed it from hand to hand,

didn't notice the vessels bursting
the discoloration
the weakening thumping
pushing outwards against your curled fingers—
a cage
for my heart

far crueler
far tighter
than my ribs.

3. finally

and now my life rests in your hands—
too.

you hold the string,
the noose around my neck,
the knife to my wrists,
the gun to my temple,

you can cut it
you can pull it
you can press down
you can pull the trigger.

it won't hurt
i know it won't hurt
because in all my life
no matter the pain i went through
your pain was the worst

nothing could hurt more
than the hurt you've put me through
so what's one more?

This is half-dedicated I suppose to someone who has since left me behind; I hope you soar high in life, Birdie.

 

[x_x]

meaningless prose about work

I am to return to the factory soon. I can hear the machinery. I can see the sunlight diffuse through glazed saw-tooth roofs. I feel the tread of my heel; the cleat of my workboots.
In here, men wear aiglets of lath and spale, icterine vests stained cornsilk from the sawdust of their drawshaves.
I hear the welders, see embers fly; red-hot starlets which flitter in and out of reality behind flameproof eyewear.
My voice is guttural: the pits of my feet ache, my calves wrend in agony; my spinal column weighs the great-heap of a fleet of champagne sailboats.
I imagine the steel-beams to be iron-bough; and chains which glint of nickel-plate and rusted metal engird ascidian necks, like anguine imp-tails choking gaunt-faced gallow's-men.
My reprieve only comes at the sound of vesper bells, when men take off their hardcaps and travel, wearily, to their private corners and verdures; there they roll and smoke esparto-wrapped cigarettes and watch the light over the courtyard long enough for the scrapes and eschars of day to heal over.
I feel my shirt stick to my skin. There, wefts of fabric create pleats and creases, which have become lappets of flesh upon my red-belly. My skin is covered head-to-toe in boils and pocks.
I would much rather be gowned in burnoose shawls, like the aruval-wielding nomads of the Sahara: there would I tread the earthen towroad of my ilk, and revel in my spirit; my desert-scourged tendons, wrest from the infirmity of steel-pitted caps.
However, it is hopeless. In this place, I am a helot; and the saint is but a wretched fool.

 

[skyburials1984]

We were a simulacrum of an improved future iteration of ourselves, one that never actually happened, rendered on and extracted from faded, ruined polyethylene... this final distorted image of humanity flies to the farthest corners of the universe, trapped within the last light particles to leave a human occupied Earth, and are then swallowed at the event horizon of a black hole, spinning faster, faster, faster, until the image seems to take life once more like the silhouettes cast from within an ancient Persian zoetrope. It is there as the light bends in and out infinitely that we may finally realise the immortal realm that we long for, but it is an illusion, a poignant simulacrum of the reality we experienced, nothing but shadows flickering on the cave walls of our own consciousness...

 

[Professor K]

I feel so alone...
Whose body I own?

Good days are gone...
Where am I from?

I am so regretful...
Why is life so stressful?

Will you answer the phone?
I feel so alone...

 

[Brew]

Would this be a good thread to post recipes? If so, I'm thinking about posting a WPS document of my favorite recipes that I have created and tested out.

ACTUALLY YES PLEASE