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thedustwhispered - - "cities, pt. 2 the city breathes smoke into the night, ghosts lit through the windows of seedy bars and other desperate places. her red lips stretched in a wolf’s smile are no consolation you can fathom. you find yourself in a crouch, knees collapsing like brief empires. strangers with hollow eyes cry emergency, beckon for resurrection. here, filtering breaths through your hands, every second spreads down your back like a burning forest. no angels survive in war zones like these. "View -
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silverfeathers - - "She sat huddled against the cold, a thin blanket thrown around her shoulders. She could feel the chill settle deep into her bones, but she didn’t flinch from the numbness that consumed her. The bitter wind kissed her chapped lips softly, but she closed her eyes and thought of spring. "View -
siobhan347 - - "Hey guys, does anyone ever feel like a closet writer? I’d love to know what you think on this! : http://a-blog-of-ones-own.blogspot.com/2012/03/writers-work-is-never-done-or-closet.html "View -
rhyme79 - - "Take equal measures of anxiety, guilt and mood swings and slosh together into a small, predictable bowl with a tiny dribble of sociability to ensure viscosity. Agitate to blend. Next, in a large, shiny container take a generous portion of doubt being sure to remove all encouragement. Add a small packet of opportunity. The best to use is the dehydrated, meaningless kind that is now commonly available in any supermarket. Stir well. Combine both mixtures in a larger, shinier bowl and swamp with an increasing measure of memory loss, pre-combined with a good intellect and liberal serving of regret. Divide into thirty three pieces of non-uniform, random size and arrange into some kind of vague design. Sprinkle each with a delightful mix of depression and frustration. Leave to prove then knock back. Repeat this several times, being sure to allow room to stew. Finally, serve with a conservative dusting of budget cuts and any prescribed medication. This recipe goes well with all kinds of clueless idiot. You can usually find these anywhere incompetence is paid a salary. Enjoy. "View -
caitlinmonster - - "Something went sick with us. It was always wilting and curling brown, but the bottom fell out sooner than I had expected. I saw sparkling into tens and twenties of years in the future, and I had no idea how wrong I was. Love is something with spikes that you put down your throat. Time repeats. Time repeats itself. I have given myself over and I have given myself over and over again. I am done with being done. I am looking for something cleaner than you. I am breathing my own breath now, never yours. "View -
photicaphotic - - "I should spend every moment kissing you. For all the times I couldn’t, for all the nights I spent tossing and turning wishing for nothing more than the scent of you beside me, and the freedom to kiss your temple while you slept, unaware of the roiling and growing and burning of my love and my longing. "View -
foshizzlebeth - - "Am I the only one who suffers a minor anxiety attack right before hitting the “Go” button? Like, what if I don’t know the word? What if I can’t think of anything to write about? What if I can and it sucks? …Just me? Okay. "View -
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aspyre - - "that numbness, so addicting every measure is taken to make very, very sure that it’ll never end days pass in a haze couldn’t care less attached stuck trapped in a habit spiriling down like a plane caught aflame surrounded by lips that beg you to stop- before it’s too late they don’t understand, oh if only they could know the depth of misery a soul can experience if they could just glimpse the intensity of pain; they would finally shut up and all would be left to atrophy quietly, blissfully "View -
kenzieb - - "I stand upright on my toes. Straight, tall, indifferent. People mill around me, gathering closer to the pole from which I hang. I can fill their eyes trained on me as they gaze at my tortured body. Scars zig-zag up and down my body in an array of welts and deeply cut wounds. I can still hear the whirl of the whip as it slices through the air, breaking the sound barrier, and slaps across my back. Scarring me for life. The price that I paid for my freedom. I stand upright because everyone is watching. Everyone wants to know if their young leader will still lead them out of bondage. I stand upright, my hands hanging from the pole above my head, to make sure they know I’m not quitting. "View
