Silver TidesWhen I reached that silver shore, I was broken.My skin, burnt by the sun and bruised.My hair, tangled with salt and drenched.My body was tired, and when I reached the shore—It was my enemy, the sea that brought me there.Sand hugged my body, attacking all my salt stung wounds.As I stood up, the sun sent rays of hope instead of fire.And the waves retreated, only to crash onto me once again.©saevuswinds
Homestuck Version of the Ultimate ShowdownOld Jack Noir was hopping aroundProspit and Derse like a big playgroundWhen suddenly Bro burst from the shadeand hit Jack Noir with the Lil Cal brigade.Then Jack got pissed and began to attackbut didn't expect Davesprite to stab him in the backwho proceeded to open up a can of rap stewWhen Terezi Pyrope came out of the blueAnd she started beating up the feathered foeThen they both got flattened by the skateboard of Brobut before he could make it back to his real bro DaveGrandpa Harley popped out of his graveand took a hunting rifle out from under his hatand blew Bro away with a rat-a-tat-tatbut he ran out of bullets and he ran awaybecause Aimless Renegade came to save the daythis is the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destinygood guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can seeand only one will survive, I wonder who it will bethis is the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate DestinyJack Noir took a slice of Aimless Renegadelike Aradia Megido made Vriska Se
1000 paper cranesAkari made 999 paper cranes, but forgot to make the 1000th. Instead, she would pick each one up by their flat symmetrical wings and hold them with them cuffed in her stubby hands. She once told me they felt better when she held each one to show that she hadn't forgotten them. She was one strange duck. It's not like those cranes actually had feelings or nothin'.None-the-less, I made time to see her. Every day, actually. You know that person that's always in your bubble, and you want her to just go away, but at the same time, you don't? She was kinda like that, 'cept a little different. It's hard to explain, really.Before she got ill, she would follow me around, sneaking around the shadows of trees and buildings. I pretended not to notice. She also would wrap her arms around my bony shoulders every now and then, telling me something around how she was so lucky to have me as her friend. We were only neighbors, I swear. The only class we shared together in middle school is Gym, and even
Note of QuestionDearest,Is this really goodbye?~Me
ProcrastinationCan I do it tomorrow please?
filename: humanity.exeif you:1. have cared about something that someone told you wasn't important go to 2; else go to 3;2. believe in love go to 4; else go to 5;3. have wanted to make your life mean something go to 6; else go to 7;4. believe in something that should be impossible go to 8; else go to 9;5. believe in art go to 9; else go to 10;6. believe you are the only one like yourself go to 11; else go to 14;7. have been hurt or disappointed go to 20; else go to 21;8. are a dreamer &
here lie the hopes and dreams of an idiot like me"i've taken up smoking."after all, i needed something to fulfill my oral fixation, just like you did, but i guess you found a man for that, didn't you?no, i've never been one to like the taste of alcohol. i'm the fat girl chaser. and you'd be the one to tell me i can't do that now with my burnt out lungs. i just kneel and pray to the god who created condoms and cotton sheets, thankful that my other body parts work."that also happens to be the god that created lies, lung cancer, and monogamy," you would say. it's too hot for arguments like this. i light up another and you sneer. god, how i missed that.you'd think we were an old married couple, but alas we were just a couple, and you were the married one. and i was the one who told you i didn't need you, which in retrospect is funny because i ended up not needing you and needing cigarettes. i had to add this to my list of things to pray for.the one thing i never prayed for was the future, and this was because the truth belonged with
electrolytes She is electrolytes shivering off winter blue satellites orbiting on ruptures in his arteries and wisteria drenching his senses [clawing] dirt neath her nails, trembling skeletal structures as the stars scream in [unbalance] churning mythology and
Just Don'tDon't tell the people that they are close to God.Don't tell them that he hearsthe half-broken whimper from their strangled voice boxthat is wrapped tightly shut ( so the demons don't hear and intercept our hopes )with the fraying cord of our dreams. Don't.Don't tell the people that they can be heard.Don't tell the antsthat the watchful eyes that hover above them know nothingof their struggleand do nothing to assist them.Do not break their dorsal aortas with your clumsymalnourished ideas about eternal love. Don't.Don't tell the people that they can be heard.Don't hope to cure meningitisand malaria with a well-placed verbor a splinter of metal into vertebrae.Some people are not to be saved that way.Don't tell the people that are close to the
You'll Never DieHear me read it!They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;born a week too late, she hadmelancholy in her bones: doctor lizbettook time out of her schedule to pluck hernewborn strings - calloused sanitation againstmottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.in three more years, she will havenothing in her bones at all: doctor estairdiagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel herinstinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquidlobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellowflesh against the thought of just getting over it all.ten years after that, her mother willfind her face down and thrashing: her dustbunny bones will flex as she retches up her memoriesfor display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawingthrough them with clawed hands and heaving breathing untilone day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
I Comfort MyselfWith a warm drink, whispering secrets to my own reflection.The struggles that plague me, though none may know,Are only for the ears of my quiet mirror, who smilesSoftly, warmly and with care. He tells me, I'm fineI've done well for now and soon I may finally rest.Though the silence continues to press upon me,Weighing upon my soul like an iron crate.Still I find comfort in whispering secrets,If only to my own reflection - holding a warm drink...-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th October 2012
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.A guy I know is bulimic.When we compliment himI see the twist of agony in his eyesas his brain reprograms itto sound like an expensive liethat costs him another tearin his tattered dignity.Friends hurry to him,to reassure him, to love him.They tell him how beautiful he is.We didn't know him before,but he's definitely not fat now.We whisper things in concern like;body dysmorphic disorder.'I know you'll never believe mebut you are so gorgeous -not just on the inside.' Not just.And they're right, I join in,because they are right to say itbecause it happens to be true -he is stunning. Not just on the outside.And we want him to see himselfthe way we see him, beautiful.And I join in becauseI've felt that strangle of painin my stomach, bowels and belly,when someone used to tell me lies.So I know how he feels.Only, he is beautiful on the outsideand I'm not.He's not seeing reality in the mirrorand I am.And people rush to correc
Mid-month momentsthings i have done today: crawled out of bed, hands& knees scuffing carpet, collectingdust encrusted memories inhalf-healed grazes. lost myself in theshower, soul wandered offup the exhaust chute& left me staring atwhale-bone tile. broke my dam over lamb& chips, salt on salt until my lipspuckered under the assault andyour name came tumblingout, acrobatic.
*Ideas we set in inkDo not mirror reality.No matter how hard we think,Our words are not actuality.In writing, all that one can doIs wish upon an asteriskAnd hope that wish comes true.
Nothing LeftIs this the end of me?Is this my destiny?All that I am worth or worthy of?Please, if there is someone above,there must be something more than this.. Someone's taking the piss,And it’s not funny anymore,But you see,The joke is on meSo I give upI'm just notAble to go on.Somebody show me howTell me what to do,Is it really trueThat I have to go with the flow?Then, I give upThis is not living, anywayI need a breakFrom all the stress I can’t take,I’ll be let down,And it will be soon,But the world keeps spinning around,And I fall deeper in love with you.This is my living hellDon’t forget this daysYou may as well,Travel anywhere.For I have nothing left to give youBut this weary heart.
Sexual TensionI see the lust in his eyes,a whirlwind of locked desire,looking for a way to be unleashedThere's hidden intentions in all he doesHe's always finding an opportunityfor our skins to touchI want him to cross the lineI want to feel what he feelsI don't want to be forbidden anymoreI want to be his sweet mealTo feel different hands on my bodywould awaken what I've been trying to hideThe fact that I want him to take meI can no longer denyI wish I could touch his body,feel him up with my hands;rub myself against him,do his every command
burning clouds for the sake of silver liningscontrary to popular belief,i would've been fuckingamazing for you -licked the cold outof your tiredears, caressed your weight-riddenshoulders and knees,been the perfect answer toyour illiterate idea ofzodiac signs.but you cowered behind areflection, a "too" instead of"more";trust me, baby, i've heardtoo many liesbefore,to know for quite sure, howguilty you feltwhen the fire in your heartwasn't passion.you're trying all thewrong ways; keeping methe way you shouldn't,and it might just make mebetter at filtering.but that'sthe only silverwhitelilaclining;you'reonlymaking me wiser.
On Platonic LoveThat love is beautiful,The apple on the tree,Which endures every famine,Yet lets the apple be.That love is plentiful,The sea that hugs the shore,Which meets solely at the brink, Yet returns ever more.That love is contentful,The twine of You and Me, Which clasp our eternal strings,Yet ne'er to become We.
NaPoWriMo: Day 7Watch out.She’s a devil,that one.Glad for her spine,& her teeth,even God hands fear her.For she has arched her backfor a flower-womanwith sin drippingfrom her fingers-who taught herhow to laughlike the stars.
Letters Unsent, Words Untold.I've kept the words,inside my soul and,the letters from you,in my mind for so long,where it said you loved me,and how you missed me.Long days with sunshine,on our faces,our hearts heated,as we wildly dance.I've kept the words,inside my heart,those I wanted to say,the letters that I wrote,but didn't send away,where I said I loved you too,and how I missed you since,the unfortunate day,where you died and,the world around me fell away.Gray days with gloomy skies,tears hidden in the rain,cold grief is not enough to,cool this terrible pain.I've kept the words,inside far too long,and they're coming out,like a tremendous flood,in such a sorrowful song of,unsent letters,untold words.I'll remember the words of your letters,I'll keep them close to my heart,and I'll remember the sunshine on,those long days of happiness.
Ever"You deserve the best," you said,And I could tell you were trying not to say "But not the best of me,"Even though you meant it that way.It's funny, in the cynical way, and not the you in the passenger seatmaking fun of the way I add "m" to my words when I try to say openand me making fun of the way you try to be so deep sometimesKind of funny.You told me that you hoped everything worked out for me,unlike everything for us, and I'm reminded of saying I love youon black sheets that didn't belong to us and the incriminating stain that did.I thought everything would work out then, like an algebra equation,And in a way I guess it did, because sometimes equations have more than one answerand any of the answers could be correct, you just have to plug them in and check.I'd like to think we picked the wrong answer, the one with the negative signthat doesn't belong, the one that will turn out to be the reason for our failing gradeand we'll have to study together and study each oth