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Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams
Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”
I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."
I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"
so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last
You were cold insideYour lips tasted of
summer, of warm days and
relaxing by the
pool side and
smiling against the sun.
You should have been too hot,
too sticky, too humid.
You should have
overheated, should have
melted into your bones until
they turned to ashes, but
it never happened.
I suppose I should have
seen it coming, but
I was so moonstruck over
the way you said my name, so
in love with the idea
of love, that I
didn't notice the way
your eyes bled
The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.
Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.
The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.
At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.
Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.
my fingers ache to
but my eyes ache to
you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.
VIIEncore un peu de cendre
Au coin de tes lèvres
J'épluche tes souhaits
Tu laves le ciel
Et dans ce vent chaud
Des milliers de pétales
SeppukuA blue sky greets me as I kneel to the ground.
I hear the rushing wind and the sacred water sound.
The cold, grey stone upon my knee,
As I prepare myself for eternity.
I take a solemn look at my silent crowd,
Those cruel, dark faces scream so loud.
They want me to do the final deed.
I'll plunge the tanto in. They'll see me bleed.
I look for a while at my full rice bowl,
And prepare for the next cycle of my soul.
What shall I be? A man or god?
Shall my next life be lived in the mud and sod?
I finish quickly so we don't delay.
By now the light is fading away.
I take up the pen and start to write,
To put brush to paper is one last delight.
Equestrian StormEquestrian Storm
I was walking through Canterlot,
as rain beat my plot.
I just didn’t feel right,
before it came into my sight.
The princess of the night,
alone and broken.
What a pitiful sight,
out of my slump, twas awoken.
“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”
“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”
“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”
“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”
“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”
“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”
No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.
a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
so I add more spoonfuls of sugar into it,
hoping the sweetness will overpower the bitterness;
yet, this clever feeling still seeps through the sweet substance
and clings to the sugar's particles,
races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,
making an entire day feel ruined
Right Ulna and RadiusStill I remember the day I spent
lying, green, in a hospital bed
swaddled in blankets.
The afternoon I woke,
sprawled across the classroom floor,
my words slurring and arm
trying to pick faces out
of the black spots in my vision
and begging eyes to tell me
what had happened
where I was
who I was.
The way the
two nurses rubbed feeling back into my
and dripped my blood into a
tube, cell by cell by cell,
for fear that my basic structure would
hit the bottom of the vacuum and
HowlPlaces unknown beckon so sweetly,
And I pace through the wreckage,
Shifting and turning,
Daring to flee the turmoil that lies within.
(They said I was strange,
Howling up and up to the sky so high,
Chain smoking beneath the moonlight,
Banging the night away at the keys of a piano.)
Steeping tea so softly brings an ease to the mind.
Leisure drifts through my thoughts,
Tainting my actions with the lull of the summer,
sun light spills over my bare hands to wash away the winter.
(When I was young they thought I was a monster,
Lurking beneath the heavy night.
They thought I prowled beneath fences and stars,
Morphed into something so d
Never open the window... Never open the window...
I see you're here.
Pay attention, don't fall. It's dark.
What? No, I don't want to light up the room. Yeah, nor open the window. It's useless.
And actually, the only light I need...
...is that one that is so distant for me.
She asked me why I was saying that.
But best of all, I knew that actually she didn't care
I saw too much faces ready to wipe away all my tears and all my fears
But best of all, I know that actually they didn't care.
Seems like destiny put me in this world to help others.
Oh, I'm tired, but I won't show you.
it has been four years, right?
Four years that I'm holding all of you on my shoul
The Librarians daughter -Prose- "One." She raised the gun, slowly, methodically. "Two." She pointed it toward the target, closed one eye. "Three." She tightened her grip, fired.
The bullet tore through the paper and splintered the wood, particles of dust filled the air, the sunlight bounced off them through the cracks in the walls.
The Librarian clapped. "Good job my dear."
She shrugged and eyed the gun in her hand, turning it over and stroking it as if it was alive. "It's simple."
"You're quite a markswoman you know." He clapped her on the shoulder softly and gave her a fatherly smile. "You should do it more often, you may well find you enjoy it."
She shook her
Old wooden boxOld wooden box, filled with photos.
That day we spent in the mall, wandering store to store. Never buying anything.
That night we drove around with the windows down, blasting our music and singing along.
That song you wrote, on the back of napkin.
The good ole days when it didn't matter ..
I look into my box, and I'll always remember the world the way it was before ..
March 3rdMarch third.
Today nothing happened.
But eleven years ago it did.
Just not today.
Today was just silence.
And then thisI knew today would be "too much".
I knew before I woke up.
I woke from a dreamless sleep and I knew that today, wouldn't be an easy day.
And then this!
I'm crying into my sleeve so no one sees.
Forcing a smile so no one knows.
That I'm weak today.
That I'm not strong enough today.
They say they "understand" but no one does.
And maybe I don't want to talk about it?
Maybe I just want it to stop.
Do you know what today is?
No you don't, I haven't sent that message yet
The firstThe first was all knowing, a being unmatched.
Until his wives locked him away.
The second was a stubborn daughter of the creator who wished for change. A woman ruled by light.
Until she was overthrown by a man just like the husband she'd turned away from.
The third was a broken hearted King with fire in his eyes.
Until his pain became too much and he walked away.
The fourth was a woman with no voice who dreamed of greatness.
Until she made a deal with the trickster.
And the fifth is the trickster King.
He is the first to sit on the throne, and wish to be overthrown.
Every Angel Deserves a Child"I can't feel the unfurling of my wings, Daddy."
I was not her father. I had entered her life when she was two years old, and she called me Daddy since she never knew her real father. Her mother's death two years ago made me the sole, living parent of an eleven-year-old, and I never felt like I was the right person for the job.
"What do you mean, Asrin?"
"Mom always said that when puberty started I would be the swan that emerged from the ugly duckling. She said I would be able to fly gracefully towards my dreams. But, I don't feel it."
As much of a woman as she was becoming, she was still a child. I wanted to answer her question, but I really had a hard time discussing her blossoming womanhood in the middle of a laundromat. Her pretty eyes were pleading with me, but I told her we'd talk later.
Janet had told Asrin a lot of things before she succumbed to the cancer. The last week or so of Janet's life were morphine-induced fantasy, I think.
Janet and I had met during c
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More