Moonbeam EpiphaniesYou sit on the windowsill in a stranger's room,gazing out at nameless people,their faces sickly yellow beneath the streetlights.The stranger's breaths are an unfamiliar rhythm,out of sync with everything you once knew.Now you're tuned into all that is off-beat;the wrong radio frequency,and a broken dial.You wish to be outside,but if you left,you'd be wishing you were right back here.Because restlessness, ironically, is attached to you in one steady place,but you can't figure out where.Like a phantom itch,impossible to satisfy.Wanderlust, minus the desire;just becauseyou don't know what the hell else to do.If you're still,
LiminalI woke after thirteen hours of sleepand when I looked in the mirror,there were still bruise-purple crescent moons beneath my eyes.tired no longer comes from alack of sleep—it has reached a stateof permanence, engraving itselfinto my bones. When you askhow I am, I will now answer:cold and tired.It was later that night when I tasted the liquor cabinetto see what all the fuss was about.Whiskey burns as it goes downand settles in the cavity of the heart,encompassing it with a hugthat a lover will never reach.I now want to know if I will ever be able to melt.I used to close my eyes beneath the night sky, as everything i
Changes Due"See the way the top of the building blinks?" he asks, pausing to breathe some warmth into his stiff fingers."Steady blue, clear view.Flashing blue, changes due.Steady red, rain ahead.Flashing red, snow instead."We stand beneath Boston's skyline, the February sky spite hard, tiny flakes that don't even feel like snow at us. I begin to wonder if we are trapped inside a snow globe of the city, as if someone bumped the one that I bought for my grandmother when I moved here."Changes due, what does that mean?"He shrugs back at me, "The guy who wrote it probably just needed something to rhyme with blue."I pull my hands from my coat poc
What it means to conquerI read about themAnd lived- in his mighty arms and his passionate gaze and their tragic romance and fulfilled promise of never being one without the other Death can never be seen as the end to the undying erosHow I pray with all my might that the oracles that spoke to you were right, that he has become a hero and you will once again meet in the afterlife For you have been destined for godliness therefore your realms must once again tangent and intersect and intertwineNo queen nor goddess nor titanessMay ever purify, rectifyWhat has been melded
I just need to get this out of my systemDear Boys:Treat the woman you're in love with the same way you'd want the man who's in love with your sister to treat her- With utmost respect and integrity intact.If you don't want your sister to be inappropriately touched, foul-mouthed or gossiped about, then do not do so to the woman you are after. She too is somebody else's sister.
...signaling a beginning.It is much too cold for May.Morning,cold iridescence breaking in.He hates the cold now, you see.Although,He thought he'd always dislike heatas he had since six at school.Fond of hugs and of sun,being teased as 'sticky Steve'.I guess deprivation is one key to curing some sorts of incongruities.It was much too cold that day as well.Calendar and watch and lucky compass all set out.Wind serenely flouncing, roads skimpily iced.Mrs. and son and their Tahoe by electric barbwire were mutilated-smokey, sliver served.As he sat thereSkewered,eyes feastingforcibly,forciblysurviving.He wrappe
Dandelion Winethe dandelion has made its appealto wine and whimsy,but it's plucked-- regardless of nostalgia.[i am that lion's ragged blooms, and you are the strong winds that blow my meek seeds away, and he-- he is the brawny child pulling me like another weed passe. and there have been other gardeners with hands mortared in black veins by fertile soil, savaging between tame dalmatian tulips and mums the color of fat tabbies embellished by aureate mornings; there have always been these potted plants prettily set as if all of creation planned them so.]and its roots remain tuckedIn the good earth,flirting with raindrops and shelved reverie.[i am t
PersephoneI fed herpomegranate kissesand she criedat every frozen sunrisefor 180 days.With cracks in my heartand souls caught in my hairI counted 180 more.
Beta Reading TutorialWhat is a Beta Reader?Apart from being a writer's best friend, beta readers provide a cross between edits and a critique. A beta reader does not edit a manuscript, but will note the errors for the author to fix. Advice and critiques are other services a beta may perform.Establishing a RelationshipYou've just partnered with an author; what do you do first? Establish with your author what each of you expects from the relationship. A solid understanding of expectations starts the partnership on a productive path and avoids misunderstandings.Time ExpectationsIs the author expecting a 24 hour turn around, while you're thinking a week? If not
Beta Reading for AuthorsWhat is a Beta Reader?Apart from being a writer's best friend, beta readers provide a cross between edits and a critique. A beta reader does not edit a manuscript, but will note the errors for the author to fix. Advice and critiques are other services a beta may perform.Establishing a RelationshipYou've just partnered with a beta reader; what do you do first? Establish with your beta what each of you expects from the relationship. A solid understanding of expectations starts the partnership on a productive path and avoids misunderstandings.Time ExpectationsAre you expecting a 24 hour turn around, while your beta is thinking a week? If
Prose Critique BasicsProse Critique BasicsCritique... we all want it. We all need it. But what exactly is the embodiment of this fear-inspiring, often frustrating word?Ever since dA rolled out their advanced critique system in 2009, I've made it a point to read through many prose critiques, mainly in seeking a person to look at my own work. While most critiques are helpful to some degree, it never fails to surprise me how many exist out there are nothing more than in depth comments. Just the critic's opinion or view on the piece, which is usually made of nothing but positives. In short... a review. Of course, the receiving authors snatch up whatever feedback
7 Rules for Critique on ProseSeven Rules for Critiquing Prose on dA1. Decide if the time is right to critique. Sitting down to critique something when you're tired, pressed for time, angry, or in a less than conducive environment (TV in the background, screaming kids, Facebook game running on your other tab) isn't fair to the author, since their work isn't getting 100% of your attention. You wouldn't want them to do the same with your work, would you? If the situation doesn't allow for leisure reading, then it certainly won't allow for critiquing. Remember, this person is trusting your feedback. And if they've had enough crits to know you were slacking, you've most lik
A Beginner's Guide to Poetry In my wanderings around dA, I've realized that many deviantArt poets don't know what dA means by the different classifications of poetry. Contrary to popular belief, not all rhyming poetry belongs in the category of "Traditional Fixed Forms." Much of the rhyming poetry I have seen on dA would actually fall under the category of Free Verse. Which is why I am writing this little essay. My intent is to define and explain, with examples, some of the types of poetry that actually do fall into the category of Traditional Fixed Forms. (Some, not all. To try and explain all the forms would take a lifetime.) I will also touch upon some Eastern st
A LIVING DREAMWhat is life? And pray tell what is death?What is the mystery confounded and subtle?Is it like the wind blowing on a withered arm?Or a veritable prison for the promethean heart?Empty hopes shackled by faithless noosesA mercurial mind conditioned by miasmic huesThis veil cannot be of beauty bornFading with the faintest of windsOf Knowledge they loudly speakThe rains of time quickly drown itWhere then is there any comfortLiving in the recesses of a shadowIf life is but a razors edgeThen death is but a withered armThe vision of a darkened dream Asleep to reality, awake to delusion
Nothingoh steal away my heart. the air that i breath. marry belief. i can not see. disbelief. i can agree. lines between. all those that counted. all things that matter. brain splatter. brain matter. brains matter. seen here after. dying faster. dead here after.
tooth decayNot personal vengeance, monotonous sex: a rotting tooth decay type of love.To say it is a fallacy, I'd be wrong.I’m strung high, aeronautical aerobics – anxious to reach the lofty clouds – lubricious like the ashen feathers that encompass a dove.Swollen lips and torn fabric, flesh is slick and glossy – your eyes, they hum a bluesy song.Chords struck by a hollow wood, tune as dull as his soul – reverberating string pulsing against a tomb – bleeding remnants of our dying flame (Something I need to be freed of).Each word he speaks sends shivers along my spine; words spoken in twisted tongue. Is he wh
Big LibertyOh, Big Liberty, copper giantess,You French addition to this melting pot,Are you proud of what this diverse nationHas willingly and foolishly become?The most powerful country in the worldWith freedoms barely dreamt of by manyStands as an example for most nationsThat is why you hold your torch to the skies.Now filled with semi-illiterate foolsWho idolize Hollywood beauty queensTanned bimbos in exiguous raimentAnd they wonder wonder why divorce rates are so highDefiled by laziness and apathyThe economy is an ailing birdOur culture's art reflects the tragedyThat is our skill with deep comprehensionYet still you stand, with to
Knowing you...Knowing you was torture, my patience was misplaced.Your hands were not welcomed, my body was disgraced.You saw me as property, your own personal pawn.Gaining freedom was not easy, you kept holding on.So the game of life I did play, turning black pawn to white.Your threats and promises came, but I continued with the fight.The battle for freedom ended, you convinced of your victory.The truth came eventually, revealing the contradictory.You attempt to ensnare me again, but I know what you're about.You claim that you've changed, but that's a lie beyond any doubt.I will not allow you to come back, I've learned my lesson w
Alphabet PoemMorning comesNowhere to be found, is heOut he went.Perhaps to walkQuietly. Among the Roses, perfect, he holdsSilently a vigilTill once again the sun comes Up. When will heVenture out again?
Hadal OblivionFrom vastest depths of the forgetfulness,The wail of the banished memoriesResounds, bouncing off invisible walls of nothingness,And their painful intensity – sonance, greatly varies. Oh, millions of darkest memories cast outTo oblivion, gently caressing them and yet...They are starving; on the edge of life; bleeding out.Although kept alive in emanation of agony, grief and hate.Many want to banish those shardsof their lives. In the end - banishing themselves.Stripped of those shards of glass, containing memories,We are nothing – especially not humans. Without identity,We may find ourselves lost in the overwhelming wor
The Princess Of The NorthTHE PRINCESS OF THE NORTH She was a Princess of the North, A war it came and she was lost She was enslaved, She was forced, They dressed her red And she was sold. He was a son, down, from South, With light heart and shy mouth He never searched, yet now he found, Their eyes met a night around. They hide in darkness, She's in Love, He didn't think Of what's above She was a slave and masters ask to pay with gold, to pay for lust. He was no warrior, No sword in hand and no courage yet to stand. They'll meet again, Passion rules, Two elders pay For him, her goods They'll meet again, Passion rules, Two el
Aura: The RevolutionAura: The RevolutionI will never live up to any other expectationsI will only just reach the place in life that's destinedNever again will I be a victim of impossible outcomesNever again will I allow my self-respect to be disgraced and overcome-I am a prisoner no moreDiscrimination became the martyrI had to put an end to this warI will not be walked on like I had been beforeThe future of a fearless life is what I now strive forThe source of my resolve has been built into my coreI believe what's right / To live my lifeI'll reach for the light / And shine so brightThere's no limit to the sky / This smile never felt so fine
layersi’ve wrapped up silly things in my heartlike pictures and scribblesold scarves and poemssongs and magazine snippetstypewriter fonts and skeleton keysfavourite pens and flower petalsdroplets of tea and cookie crumbsgritty bits of sand and popsicle sticksand you,you’re there too.
breathing underwaterbreathing underwateri will never drown, darling -the summer moon will carry mebeyond the abyss within the great sunken layers.lies the answera small blossom’s heart bornof all things yellow, warming frost-bitten feet perpetually treading water.(ice (lava) rock)and the sunlit foam kisses the warrior’s shores ...i will never drown again darling, and you,you, will float on.-SophieCT, June 2013
She's not worth itShe isn't worth itthis kind of love is worthlessleave nowI know it will hurtbut learn how to live with the burnshe's not worth iteverything you've donefor her is worthlessCan't you see that?you're crushing on herwhen she's fucking some other guywhile her "heart" belongs to youCan't you hear her moans?You should see that she's not worth the painShe's a queen, you're a guard with no nameshe has nothing to gainby choosing youshe'll pick him no matter what you doyou better leave foolto her you're just a toolwhat can't you see it?Love..No matter how hard youbelieve in itYou will not get it with herShe's just not worth it
Damn LizardsI am convinced that I can only writeWhile my mind is twisted on acidOtherwise it is embarrassing and blandThe Ego preventing the journeyTo worthwhile literary conjurationThe journey is the conjurationI am losing more of my piecesWith each new stepHumans must be like lizardsWe need to keep shedding skinsBecoming new peopleUntil we find the person we like beingThen keep trying to recreate that maskMaintaining the image of what we wish to beAll the while hoping others cannot see through the maskBut then what is behindUs hiding from ourselvesAmongst the face of everyoneIdentity hiding from itselfWhy and who are we hidingDeep,
Sleeping With The EnemyWoven lies, never SpokenEvidence building, never ShownAre we really this Broken? Am I really this Alone?Is this all in my Head?Being watched, seeing Synchronicity? Maybe we aren’t dead.But death? It’s simply a lack of Frequency.I think I’m being Betrayed.I think you’re slipping Through.I think our tapestry is Frayed… I think, you aren’t who I Knew.Now I’m watching time Pass, Wondering if he Sees,Wondering if she Sees,Wondering if we’re passed.
Epitaph in Bathroom Mirror1)My tawny skin suffocates meMy lackluster lips ring a looped rope around my neck2)Gloom crawls like creeping vinesstrangling my wordsTwisting at my wrists and anklesSuspending them in a purplish hue3)I lay contorted on my cold bathroom floorSeeking for solace in prescriptiontelevision eyesOnly to poke into old woundsthat have not yet healed andI have only begun to fermentall my tears into wine4)Plant seeds in my blue-green veinsFor red blossoms to bloom in my once-blood's place
InfectionSqueeze the gristle on my palmI'll lick the infection from your fingerI'll read the writing on your armwhile you burn your ear and lipWe could save each other from harmlike a rock I sinkI can't kick your habitI'm feeling weak and that's all wrongno one by my side to ease the painmemories of hope I can't forgetI'll light another cigaretteWeent against the grainI'm not hanging in your framefive stops on the trainmy necks on the tracksNow I'm feeling lostDestroyed everything you blatantly told meI hate myself and you won't hold me
*Music of Night*Nocturne of star lightMoonlight's lustre did composeHeaven's candescense.2013 Delice19414th June2013
summer heatsunshine molten hot,streets shimmering with gold heat;the summer is here.
*Serenity*Quiet lily pondIridescent dragonflyMoment so sereneCarp swim imperviously Under noonday sun.2013 Delice194126th May2013
Summer ExplosionLime mind-map brooding, (Mother Nature adores clouds).Apollo-kissed mops.
Haiku Series1. rude awakeningsI love the springtime.Sadly, so do chatty birds.Windows shut=Sweet peace. 2. fork in the roadReality's therefor businessmen to followand dreamers, reject. 3. fire: for the night is dark and full of terrorsSome see a cleansing;Others shut their eyes, seeingonly destruction. 4. starsHave the stars heard youcrying? or have they watched youshine in their ghost-lights?
time travel (continued) i. precious moments- featherweight. ii. time heals, remember? iii. burying despair: death. iv. grandfather time, immortal?
reinventionI should've met youwhen I still had it in meto change my own name
*Mask*Tonight hearts will beatIdentities are concealedWhen we masquerade.Familiar voicesBehind flamboyant disguiseRecognize those eyes.2013 Delice194113th April2013
Crystal Sages Parts 1 and 2"Crystal Sages"I The night wind howled through the trees as the full moon shone a dim light through the clouds in the sky. The forest, a once serene and calming place, had become dark and ominous, even during the day. A crow swoops down from a tree and begins to pick at nuts on the ground. As the crow pecks the ground for food, it accidentally pecks the nose of a boy who appeared to have passed out while walking in the woods. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans, and he didn't appear to have any hiking equipment, it was peculiar being as deep in the woods as he was. Being pecked on the nose the boy awakes, and the crow, who was startled as well, flew away. The boy sat up and looks around, wondering where he was. "What...where am I?" the boy muttered to himself. If anyone would have passed by him they might have assumed the he was mugged. As he tried to collect himself, he heard a voice break the si
Sacred DutySacred DutyAs I went out one morning to breathe the air around Tom Paine’sHenry shook off the cold as he walked across the walls of the fort. His lookouts were marching their familiar path, occasionally looking up, but mostly keeping their head down in a dreamlike state. Being a sentinel was probably the worst job, and he had some pity for these boys, but if they failed, the entire fort would be in jeopardy. He did not yell at the ones who were half asleep. Instead he would walk by and cough and stare at the young soldier who looked up at him. He was never sure if it was the look in his eyes or his rank, or if he truly was that reco
Journal of Malin: Entry 13Journal of Malin 13For several seconds no one moved. We all stared at the corpse of the assassin. Then everyone looked at me. Everyone, that is, except the royal brothers.“Gather our dead,” the king said. His voice barely sounded affected by his recent strain. “Drag the body of the villain to the alchemist. We’ll find out who he was.”The guards moved slowly at first, cautious of any more treachery, but there was none. A few of them immediately grabbed the assassin’s body to take him away. Their feet splashed in a large puddle of water. Others, those who had lost friends, knelt down beside the bodies o
Snowlit:Reform prologueIt has been a few years since the purge, the event in which Hajime took over the Lockwood throne. Now with the king’s brother dead, he rules alongside with his uncle Allen Walker. The Walker family the only remainders of the holy demon race. Meanwhile the kings mother Ivy Walker has retired from military due to a traumatic experience with two men. She has moved in with her new partner Sebastian who serves in the military in paperwork. Ivy herself deals with the animals in the bestiary. Hajime the young seventeen year old ruler is doing his best to rule, and is much smarter than his mother ever was. Since his rule Lockwood has pissed o
Our Lady Chapter3Augen aus BernsteinCeridwen stieg gedankenverloren die Stufen des Treppenturmes hinab. Sie hatte eine Entscheidung zu treffen. Keine der Alternativen sagte ihr sonderlich zu. Irgendjemand mußte die Verantwortung übernehmen - und dieser Irgendjemand war sie. Sie war die Kommandantin - wie auch immer sie zu diesem illustren Posten gekommen war. Sie aufzuschieben war keine Lösung, mochte alles eher noch schlimmer machen. Am Ende der Treppe angekommen, stand ihre Entscheidung. Festen Schrittes ging sie hinüber zum Kasernenbau, in dessen Keller das kleine Gefängnis der Feste lag.Der Nieselregen hatte gerade aufgeh&oum
The Dead Bird DanceThe raven was curious and slow, a lethal combination. Prankster danced for the second set of curious eyes now watching him.Toss. Leap-snatch-spin-land!Prankster. The new name fit as snug as a snare around a rabbit’s neck. There was no getting rid of it. What a horrible thing to call someone. Did his kin think he treated life like a joke?Fling. Spring-twirl-snatch-land!Jumps-at-Shadows bobbed his head to watch the movements, but gave no other response. Jumps-at-Shadows- now there was a well-earned name. The pitiful excuse for a wendigo spirit was almost too neurotic to hunt human prey. How did he find enough spirit energy to keep
When Rain Catches FireWhen Rain Catches FirePrologue The world sped by in hues of brown, black and green with an occasional pop of color of a flower in bloom or a bright winged bird flying to a new perch as the solid black wolf ran through the god forsaken forest. His long legs ate up the land as he flew over the game trail that held the foot prints and scents of his friend and the two chasing her. He prayed he could go faster. He didn’t want to be too late; he didn’t want to lose her.Over and over he told himself that he would catch up, that he wouldn’t lose her, but his mind kept belittling him for letting this happen to begin with.
Nightmare [On Going]We walked down the hall quickly and quietly, heads down and avoiding any eye contact. Everything is old, worn, cracked, or peeling. Filthy. The only lights in the halls are from the candle s or coming in the large stained glass windows that spanned the length of the hallway. Emilia and I held tightly to each others arms. She was brave, strong, and always so prepared when I needed advice or help. I'm sure the only reason I am alive today is because of Emilia and my luck of her finding me in time. Our story began three months ago. This is and always has been a dark place. A place that could be the sister of hell, even when there weren’t
WiH Ch. 1 pt. 1 - ShevaHe will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” - Revelation 21:4~~~~~~And so time continued for the little girl. Sure, she didn't grow to be a 'normal' person, but she had been given a second chance at life, and for that she is eternally grateful. For years she studied the Bible, eager to learn everything and anything she could about the Holy Book. Of course, she did need Bastra's help for there were parts she didn't fully understand. No mere mortal could never understand
alibi.In your pocketscoins jangle happilycheerfullyand scratch against keysthat have no locks;we threw away all the cages, you seeI didn't want them clutteringthe hallwaysany more.And trapped within your eyesis a thousand thoughtsto speak aloud when no one is listening,least of all me,because in your mindI committed some kind of blasphemy --I'm unforgivable,guilty:a devil dancing on your grave.There's rubbish in your cellspiled up in bin bagsand drenching me with rotten fleshof fruits we left there,once sweet --now sweeter;must I remind youto shut the doors once again?The ink tips from the potand pours over the mountai
HairlessIt started off like any other spring Saturday. Tyler and I soaked up the Sun with a good morning stroll. Though we both traveled at a walking pace, my meager steps could not keep up with Tyler’s. While my friend occupied himself with kicking away at the chipped sidewalk and stomping weeds poking up from the cracks; I dragged my dog, Buddy, as he sniffed through the half-dead grass. I yanked at the leash, turning the attention of the German Shepherd mix to me.“You keeping up back there, Alex?” Tyler shouted over his shoulder.“Ya!” I replied.“Hey,” Tyler continued, “When your dog’s don
Lucifer and VisitorThe Devil mourned his homeland lostUpon a stone in exile deepBeneath the great Earth’s hardened crustWhere fires rage inside the seaMuch too far for father skyTo see the rock where The Devil lieAs he lamented, sullen, wearyExpression that of sorrow trueA Thing appeared, and very clearlyCracked the gates of Lucifer’s tombThe grin that danced upon his faceFound hell to be the quaintest placeThe thing approached and asked him kindly,“Why do you mourn your banishment?All the land above I do seeBut I’ve never seen an armamentSo well hidden from my mighty eyesWhich see all things as they liv
Fireflies - Ciel X Reader (Song Fic)--- Your POV --- I climbed up the pole that was connected to the tan wall of the orphanage. I wrapped my fingers around the side of the short cave in of the wall, that held the window in at it's end. I climbed into it and leaned my back against the side. I folded my knees to my chest as I made the lifting motion, swinging my feet into the small cave-esk hole in the wall. I slid the lock on the window and opened it, I watched the moon in the starlit sky hang there. I noticed a small raven sitting on a tree, along with a larger raven now that I thought about it, they have been here more than once. Then the most beautiful herd of fireflies flew outside my window, I widened my eyes and my mouth dropped at the amounts of them. You would not believe your eyesIf ten million firefliesLit up the world as I fell asleep'Cause they'd fill the open airAnd leave tear drops everywhereYou'd think me rudeBut I would
Pull Me ClosePull me closeHold me tightTell me silentlyThat it’ll be alright‘Cause when you’re nearI feel my heart beating,When I see youI feel alive,When you hold meI know it’s OK,And I revel in feelingThe sound of you breathingWith your heart right nextTo mine.
Romano x Reader: Even Death Couldn't Do Us Part C1A/N: There might be some confusion as to how I write my junk. Please read the description before you continue.Romano's POVI groggily woke up from my sleep, feeling disappointed that what I experienced just now was a dream. It took me awhile to process everything in my mind; such as where am I, is this reality and what day is it.But then I realised what today is. In shock, I looked towards my alarm clock; a relived sigh escaped my lips as I saw that my alarm hasn't gone off yet. Hmm, what could I possibly do on 6:30 in the morning? Well, for starters I could wake Feli up. Geez, he’s just a drag to wake up in the morning.As I made
Cross Your Mind (A Cappella Video)You're in my dreams..Night, after night.Coursing through them like an eel.Imaginary waves, and cold liquid touch..Are things I swear I can feel.And Oh, why do you do this to me?Visit me in alternate reality?When here I am, wanting you for real.I want your skin, your pulse, your heartbeat..I want your touch, your kiss, your breath all over me.But Oh, your sweat is poison to me.It saturates, down to the bone.[ But in those dreams, it's raw honey. ]You're in my thoughts.Day, after day.Moving through them like a ghost.Imaginary man, and make-believe romance..Are things I wish I could forget.And Oh, why did you do this to me?
Don'tPlease, don't tell her that she's alluring;don't tell her so just because you know how to lure and malevolently make use of her malleable heart, to form and fit into a ring on your plum-tipped, pinky finger- you duly deserve fetters.Please, don't tell her that she's beautiful;if only just to have your way and peruse through the glossy pages of her life like it were some casual magazine on a random subway stand- she's better off without your grimy fingerprints.Please, don't tell her that she's captivating;don't use terms of endearment when you don't even understand why they should be said to her in the first place- you were never deserv
I am yoursTake my hand And pull me close.Hold me tight and,Never let me go.Your skin sMells like sweet June rainAnd your arms are all around me.You engraved yoUr kisses on my neckSo I can never leave.I like to feel your heartbeatBecause I beloNg to the echo of your soul.If you wished for more,I couldn't help you,Cause you've already got it all.And I know it's stupidSpilling these words on your lipsBut you need to know thaTYou can feel the light of my love undEr your fingertips.There is one more thingI think even the brightest stAr knowsMy head is buried in your Neck."I promise,I am yours".
Jukebox Cafe A string of bells jingled obnoxiously against the glass door as Hugh entered the Jukebox Café, and the first thing he noticed was the pepless fan rotating just enough to move the hot air and smell of grease from one side of the restaurant to the other. No one came for the food, or at least that’s what he assumed upon sight of the sticky red tablecloths and French fries that speckled the checkered floor. That and the fact that he was the only soul in sight. He walked up to the bar and squinted at a sign asking customers to “Please seat yourself or ring for service.” What kind of café required its customers to ring a bell for service? Not sure if there was an employee in the place, he rang it despite the sheen applied by dirty hands, and the shrill sound barely cut through an old tune produced by the jukebox in the corner.
The Apocalypse, or: A Mundane Love Story Cross-legged, Jude popped open the lid of his little candy dispenser to reload it and briefly glanced at the falling sky. The universe was coming to an end without putting up much of a fight, and for the most part people, at least small-town folk like him and Marion and Tess and George and Olaf, and all the other guys and gals presently sitting in their homes with their loved ones, waiting it out, weren't either. All had said their last goodbyes, had made amends or fought their last fights, had taken out the garbage for mom without a peep or had, just once, did what they told their wife they were going to do the moment the subject came up.
I don't believe in angels: Ch1 Part 1. I Don’t Believe in Angels. Chapter I In the beginning, there was fire.-Characters in this story are anthropomorphic cats- It was another day at the lab, bit of a boring day really. I was in the R&D division, and I work there with two other people. There was gage; he has pitch black fur and dark blue eyes. Pulled of the lab coat look rather brilliantly I think. He had that burly look to him, probably could be mistaken for a bad brute if you didn’t know him. I know him quite well though; after all I’m
Atlas: Prelude to SleepThe head’s-up display reads o-four thirty.Our thrusters engage and we peel from the dock With the alacrity of an overfed tick,Fat with fresh hands and radioactive blood. Inertia takes the wheel, cloaked in grudging electric moans. Four thirty one, we penetrate the veil of eternity;I take a sip of coffee in celebration.First Contact Station: Thirteen is a star-lit pinecone in the rearview.Every deck is full-bright, pumped to watch the Earth rise. “Grand Central Station,” the kid calls her, Even though she was just another backwater in a long lineBefore the nest-egg’s heat lamp went cold. To me, she&rsquo
The Literate, PrologueThe ancient and usually dim forest depths were alive with colors this Autumn, a vast panoply of brilliant reds, fervent yellows and dazzling oranges proudly displayed to one and all against the muted backdrop of grayish browns and mossy greens as though a master artist had been given free reign with brush and canvas, but all of this beauty was wasted on the young boy running through its vivid splendor, not from some intrinsic deficiency of soul that inured him to the grandiose vista laid out all around him, but because he was being pursued.Through thicket and clearing, across mud and over rock, and faster than he'd ever sped before all the w
Apartment 301Apartment 301 Blue smoke hung gloomily over the north side, pouring out of refineries which had nearly become obsolete not so long ago, in the good old days. Gord Bondarchuk had lived in Edmonton all his seventy-two years, and he could remember a time when fusion power was coming to save the day, when hover cars had begun to crisscross the sky, and when space planes were fast becoming the best and safest way to travel. He could not for the life of him, however, remember a time when living on any one of the little offshoots of 118th Avenue was not miserable and intimidating. Gord sat in his ancient rocking chair—the one he kept hidde
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