• ✍️ WORDS ✍️

    Welcome Guest!

  • Words Moderators: Mysterier

Share Write and share a micro-story, essay, or poem!

Where am I supposed
to go from here?
Into which direction,
should I steer?
Without you near,
Every direction I fear!
 
Which other animal laments it's life existence
With the same long, sour sigh of grief
As the homo sapien and his fellow man?
 
Last edited:
Instead of writing down something worth while,
Something worth more than just a pinch of salt

I'd rather be admired just for writing.

So fuck you.

Adore me.

Edit number of the night; 28.
 
infectedmushroom said:
Which other animal laments it's life existence
With the same long, sour sigh of grief
As the homo sapien and his fellow man?
Click to expand...

As the demand
to and fro'
no time for relief
the burden of it's disease
This is just another mallorie
lacking melody
not so softly
impugning conformity

the discomforting
disposition
of dispensing
decadence and defacto plications of disbelief.

no relief
no relief
 
He has always treated his pet dogs more like children than I ever was. At 9, I learned the only way to spend time with my father was to go with him to one of the parks.

He'd walk around (at the time he had a prosthesis as he has one leg) and throw sticks and talk to this damn dog. The dog's name was Chief, a purebred badass German shepherd. My father would go out with him for sometimes 8 hours at a time, just throwing sticks, fishing, and walking around the creek.

See, the environment around the Susquehanna river is marshy, swampy, with acres of farm land dotted with forests. It was quite spectacular and I found a lot of peace there. But there is this one memory, my favorite place was the Swatara Creek Park. It had well worn trails, the cleanest water, and mossy grass everywhere - the spectacularly soft kind that kisses your toes as you walked .

After it would rain, which let's face it, Pennsylvania makes that a special art -- grey days, the clay soil would become an interesting texture like cookie dough under your feet. I remember walking to this one place near the creek that had this plot of shale and limestone. The ground had little bits of rock that would jet out of the earth and I'f kneel under a bowing tree with gnarly protruding roots. I always feared some creature or spider scurrying out of the roots, so hastly I'd walk barefoot into the creek. Stanking there long enough, fish would peck at my toes and sometimes it would hurt. I'd usually scream and jump away while watching a half dozen fish jettison because the caveman spawn couldn't keep it together. I'd wade in the water mid thigh, always cool with the perfect current because of the hydroelectric dams a few miles down stream. The sun would peer through and hide behind the clouds all day as the winds pushed them around, like a shade on a lamp. I'd stand there with the sound of cicadas, squirrels, and crows.

Wiggling my toes I'd grow bored and find a shallow spot to dig for polished rocks, quarts and crawdads. I never ate crawdads, my dad had always said not to eat them because South Central Pennsylvania is more polluted than up near my grandma and grandpa's home in Morris, Pennsylvania. A shitty town without a stoplight, it's really quite a sight to behold. Dilapidated converted double-wides, basically Sears Catalog Mail-order Homes.
 
Last edited:
Dear mother:

I just wanted to be more than enough.

"1, 2, 3, 4 Sign my farewell with the chimes of clock radio 7 a. m. sun reveals a failed cherubim dangling from the rafters Like a sentimental ghost floating midway Between the curse of the sky and you
This noose carries what atrophied wings can't Don't you want me disenchanted a deader shade of sorry Buried from the neck up in a slipknot
Dragging my feet through the dead air Suspended a fallen chair length from the ground And when you found me when will they finally find me
This halo fit my throat, halo fit my throat, halo fit my throat Halo fit my throat, halo fit my throat, halo fit my throat Halo fit my throat, this halo fit my throat
I am your contorted angel, writhing at a loss for wings Swelled tongues tell of brighter eyes A severed spine of better days Like the deafened clicks of a blue lipped off the beat pendulum
I just wanted to be something more than enough of Oh my god, I don't think I'm breathing Jesus Christ, I cant hear myself breathing Oh my god, I don't think I'm breathing Jesus Christ, I cant hear myself breathing
This is all I know of flying my eyes set on you like stains In memory of romance
Of romance Of romance Of romance"
 
Has anyone seen the green mile?

I wish I had his power.

i'd grab my mother by the throat softly.... suck the negativity out of her but give her a glimpse of my perspective; then vomit wasps out through the dissonant air. Then we MIGHT have a relationship...
 
^And yet that didn't save him...

Save yourself first. :)

--------------

I stare at the burning tip of my cigarette, smouldering carbonized lance like a face full of a forest fire. It's a silent bell to remind me to breath. How can something that doesn't be, proceed to take the air? It strolls parched land through each grain and topical feature.
It is
not a space that fills the room.

Thicker than air --a curse at hand, a blessing to keep. Halls of keepsakes and old theatre flicks chatters, chimes, and reminds that they sleep with the thick of dust. Is it will or just a wasp?
 
Storms all over Paris - dark meat and white bones

Secured towers shut and closed

Heavy sounds of Darkness told.

Blue rains, concrete falling down its zones

Neverending foes -injections of Chaos.

Famous ancient ennemies, combating snakes in Ios

Dark lakes rising in the corridors of Amarsold.

Black pulsions, unfold black demons

Overwhelming sense of purge in the city of Ur.

Wars of hallucinations as exorcisms of Fear

Long Live the New Flesh
 
Awesome stuff WV and Debaser, I've got some I have to throw up let me just break out the old truecrypt partition file. ;)
 
It's a good thing we teach history in school...

Otherwise we'd repeat it right?

They've been jamming that tired old platitude down our atrophied throats over and again since birth. Whenever I first had the insight to pose the simple question I'm about to reveal, it never ceased to amaze me the clockwork nature in which the response came pouring out. You could set your watch by it, I often did.

Jamming my paws heavenward, perhaps reaching for a god to answer, who never existed, or a teacher to answer, who never cared, seemingly for ages - firstly then continuously (when answers didn't satisfy) in history class starting at around age seven.

They didn't call on me often and with good reason. Not because I didn't know the answers to questions they posed, I often did. They didn't want to deal with me, which I can understand too.

But mostly because I was trying to get answers to questions they themselves dared not ask or in the very least not dare answer in public. Can't blame them, they need to feed their families. You don't feed your family by ecouraging individuality and critical thinking in bright young students.



The questions varied but usually had a basic premise: "why?"

Or in this case, "how do you figure?" Seeing as how we keep going through these loops as though we'd eaten a fistful of bad acid and went on an existential introspective nightmare kick.

In the teeth it would seem.

They couldn't anwer truthfully. My answer is and always will be when asked "why learn history?" - because it's fun to learn. An honest answer, but of course I'll proffer it as my opinion, maybe one they might share but certainly weren't being forced to.

My suspsicion was these teachers themselves never found it fun or if they did a lifetime in public education and drudgery answering to half-witted bureaucrats and indoctrination officers sucked the fun out it for them, sucked the youthful exuberance right the fuck out of them.

At least they weren't liars in this regard, in the ways that they lied. Protective rationalization.

So when my students ask me that question, I'm not going to give them a bunch of fascist nonsense. I'll simply say; "because it's fun! And if you're an artist, and you all are; it will help you immensely to know where you are in the universe; and history helps you know."
 
Last edited:
I feel nothing
Not a whisper in the wind, nor a shout
Numb to all the pain, invulnerable to blame
Wishing for it all to end

Though neither suicidal nor emotional
My heart still burns
Hoping for the pain to go away
To leave me in peace
For some sense of clarity, and a cure of my disease

A psychological schism

Hoping for the pain to go away
The pain of being unable to feel pain itself

Trying to regain some faith in the fact that I'm alive
But my body is telling me I'm dying


--

Oh, I just found something else on my PC

I can feel it coming
It’s already at the door
No knocks, yet I feel its presence
Boiling, and seeping through the cracks
Escaping the clutches of sanity
How am I supposed to feel now?
Alone, staring darkness in the face
And smiling…


--


Black candles
Brown maple leaves
Blasphemy in its rawest form, atop a rotting wooden table
Blood flows through the crevice in the ceiling
Blinking at me as I stare into your rainbow eyes.




Dont wan't to double/triple post so I'm just pasting this weird shit here
 
Last edited:
night held visions of twilight
of no moon or stars, a
purple-hued black in the
icy claws of the mind's hands-

re-arranging time and space,
orchestrating the tidal flux
of the oceanic depth of emotions,
the undercurrents strong and persistent
and forever telling you: "this will never end"

but you know too,
that the fiery magnetic orb
will rise in the morning,
prickling hair to a stand, like the
grass of a lawn on a clear Spring day;
the cells enlarge and swell like grapes,
absorbing pure energy.

the surf drones, however the world is silent.
I'm nothing mirroring everything

and someday this too, will end.
 
Last edited:
a comfort blanket tapestry
made of happy memories
is making happy memories
woven with patience
patiently

there can be not much more now to need
 
sadly light

falling down the tree of madness

is almost over now

along the heavy tainted sky are the intricate clouds

forming another glorious braid of foam

are we going to be able to celebrate again

that blinding beauty thrown against the ravenous disease
 
Last edited:
incense daydream
bored, tired,
hungry, bored.
edited replay,
revisionist history.
did it end the same
as in real life?
no, never with your design,
it's perfect.
why change it?
except perhaps to make it better . . .

everything is alright
in all this wrong
 
Last edited:
In the chaos of life
Just to be
Amongst the insanity
Is the highest form of sanity
That one could strive to know;

But to truly be human
As man does tend to show
Is to love and hate with passion
And through that passion grow.
 
Last edited:
I have a mouse trap
It I loath to see or touch
So it stays kept in the cupboards corner
... and now my fears are twice as much.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top