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Connotations of Common WordsI am finally falling, slowlyConnotations of Common Words by blueskye13
Dropping from my perch in your world.
Personally I think I've already fallen.
Crashed into orange concrete.
But you tell me I'm still slipping.
I have lust written on every corner of my heart.
Do hearts have corners? I mean real hearts, not those foolish [yet adored] doodles that we scribble on Valentine cards.
But still, this lust is not for you, or for the boy you saw me in the change-rooms with.
It's not for the sexy English teacher and it's not for my damaged sibling.
This lust is different, because it doesn't involve us stripping in this cold winter. It doesn't involve our bodies.
It involves our souls.
I can't believe in your dreams when you make them seem so perfect.
I have nightmares every night because of the pain you cause me.
You, along with my change-room boy, the gorgeous English teacher and my deranged sibling.
I don't want a birthday if it means getting closer to the age that men find attractive.
Because unlike them, I can control my lust in
PuzzlePuzzle by jamaicancrocodile
A puzzle with missing pieces is just an incmplte puzzle.
But a complete, whole puzzle is a masterpiece all in itself.
You can gluethepiecestogether and make a picture and put it in a [frame].
Or you can tear it all to pieces and start over again.
Whatever the case, no matter what picture or scene
A puzzle is just a puzzle
Like our l<3ve
You puzzle me
The Fat Buddha Smiles At MeThe fat Buddha smiles at meThe Fat Buddha Smiles At Me by KarlyNoelleAbreu
As I sit in the Vietnamese nail salon,
I wonder if he realizes that
The incense in front of him is electric?
And I, paying money to sit
And have my feet bathed by a lady,
Am bowed to far more often, with
Sacrificial poses, and softly spoken words.
I wonder what it must be like
To be so enlightened that
I could be satisfied with plastic.
While the lady asks if I prefer
The blue or purple polish?
FlutteringsIt hurted.Flutterings by Gricken
My stomach was hurting for days. Mama said it was probably ulcer or maybe my drinking of so much Coke. But I ate and I ate and never drank Coke, and still my stomach hurted. Even if Mama went to the place where herbal plants grow to get a bunch of leaves so that she could squish them and put them in my drink, my stomach didn't stop hurting.
Papa said it was time to call the doctor, so he put on his funny straw hat and went to call the doctor. And when he came back, there was a funny-looking man that followed him into our little house. He had long kinky hair with white stuff in it and when he smiled he had very few teeth. His skin was brown, and his clothes was brown, and his hair was brown. He looked like mud.
Papa said, This is Pachiko.
And I said, Hello Pachiko.
And Pachiko smiled with the very few teeth that he had. Then he touched my stomach. He touched it for a long time, long enough for me to ask why he was touching it.
Then he took his hand off my stomach and looked a
Pages Found in an Old Dungeon My name is Nicholas. I know by now people may have already forgotten about me, but I used to be addressed as "Father Christmas" and "Santa Claus" among many other names. I suppose that I might be merely dismissed as a myth nowadays. I daresay it has been hundreds of years since I last brought treasures to a kind soul. Ah, but I have lost track of the ages in this wretched oubliette. There is not even a tinge of sunlight to indicate the passage of day.Pages Found in an Old Dungeon by Gricken
I cannot fathom how I could have possibly deserved such a fate. Everyday, my stomach burns of hunger, and yet I cannot die of starvation. Simply stated, I cannot die.
I never imagined that I would detest my existence. The year was 1717 and I was the happiest man in the world. As far as occupations came, mine was a most fortunate one. Riding a sleigh harnessed to flying reindeer and delivering happiness to children on the Nice List was a pu
Yet Another Christmas CarolIt was Christmas, celebrated all around Earth - and in Heaven, of course. As for elsewhere...Yet Another Christmas Carol by TheOtherSarshi
If you believe for a single second that the devils don't celebrate Christmas, you are, well, right, actually. They keep very quiet about it. Not even a mouse would dare speak about it to the Almighty Fiend, Lucifer. The sole exception to this unspoken rule had happened a few years back on the occasion of a Satanically spiked MTV "Merry Christmas" video which had seemed like a good idea for a few hours. Until it became obvious that it had been a pointless endeavor those who watched MTV regularly had been mostly unaffected, those who didn't had had their opinions on the low quality of the station confirmed and, generally, it had been a fruitless fiasco.
You didn't talk to Lucifer on Christmas. It was the same as going to him on Easter, patting him on the back and saying "There, there, mate. Anybody would have thought that killing Jesus was a good idea. I mean,
The Ghost of Christmas PastaThe Ghost of Christmas Pasta by PandaCat-Productions
Christmas had come to the Night Market. Not in the traditional sense perhaps, there would be no hymns sang tonight, no angels decorating the trees, and certainly no nativity scenes. Far too many of the market's inhabitants had either sold or lost their souls to be celebrating the birthday of a man whose very name gave them an instant hangover. Not to mention all the demons hanging around, giving the holiday a decidedly unholy feel. Aside from that however, the Night Market embraced Christmas in true festive spirit. The Witches stopped nagging the Warlocks, the Warlocks stopped sabotaging the Witches, the Alchemists looked down their noses a little bit less, the Vampires stayed at home and got drunk on brandy instead of blood and the many and varied merchants of the Night Market cashed in on the inevitable Christmas shopping crowds. Everyone was happy.
Well, almost everyone.
"Don't put your foot there!"
Vale froze mid-step; his foot suspended mere inches above the snow cov
The Alarm Clock, The Match, and The Postcard Mrs. Nolan of room number 103 at Van Dyk Retirement Center wakes every morning at precisely eight o' clock. Once she gets out of bed she then proceeds to greet the day with some music at eight ten. She delightedly turns the radio on with her old, knobby hands and is rewarded with the majestic sound of Beethoven's 9th Symphony blaring out of the small radio's speakers for all to hear. Mrs. Nolan shuffles excitedly to the window and flings them open, yelling a joyful "Good Morning!" to the world.
Ripe PlumsRipe plums are falling,
Now is the Summer of Our Discontent Chapter 3Alarm clocks are stupid.
HaikuTime is going by