I've been waitin' all day
For a journey's end
For our broken roads to mend
Lyin' on my hammock,
I'll be waitin' always
Getting Back to Never NeverlandI can feel the warmth lick my skin
Little balls of sunlight caught in my eyelashes
The smell is sweet and stale as time
Leaves skitter like insects across the dry pavement;
The sun sinks ‘neath the horizon.
A beaming moon chases it west and out of sight
The old man smiles his toothless grin
And stars like his laugh echo in the blackened sky
When I sleep I can feel it all
leaving me like the sun in such demanding haste;
Now I am as old as the moon,
Toothless but not laughing as I chase the sun west.
That sun’ll hide and hide and hide.
I’ll chase the sun until I’m colder than the night,
Till I’m stone dead and the sun
is further from me than I could possibly dream.
The Creamy Dream of Sadhir AkeemThey’ve got us sailin through the clouds and America is proud
Engines roarin loud, drownin out the world o’ sound
Crowdin round the plaid couch, watch impossibilities found
This is when we found out, innovation is never bound
We’re all king and queen clowns wearin round, jeweled crowns
Plowin at the ground until the Earth’s no longer round
Take a look round the town you founded, see the dirt’s no longer brown
And we’re wearin sad frowns and wearin gowns from mad cows
Make a bout for a loud row, yellin out sour nouns
Take the flower like it’s ours and build a house for the powers
Make cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
Neath the towel where world grew proud of its power there’s a rope unwound
Now beneath the sweat of your brow, the only word renown is a pronoun
And we’re makin cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
The WayfareI trod broad hill littered with skyward trees
Beyond which lied the roiling, raging sea
There was naught that I could not see
For in my heart a wayfarer did sleep
Until upon the day the night did creep
Where stars had glittered in their depths so deep
And a lust for the world awoke in him
So he fared the world and sailed on its brim
Flew under the light, be that bright or dim
And I was he, and we gazed upon the stars
We saw the endless ocean high and far
In all the world our way could not be barred
That was until I woke from my slumber
Yet I knew that when I felt a shudder
Like great waves my sheets did pull me under
The Winking HeavensNever forget that which follows the sun's depart
For they follow as well your sleep and the beat of your heart
Like glistening eyes may follow you and keep you sound
They make your night living as day and ensure the earth is round
Take them with you wherever it is you may go
For they will always bring company when all lights seem low
Let them make your wishes true and real as the moon
Such a wish may bring the world to behold its salvation soon
Yet never forget what importance forever lies in day
For always may you remember that our sun is a star against dismay
A Good Night's Sleep A Good Night's Sleep
Jack finally laid the pencil down. An entire night's worth of sketching, and nothing to show for it. Dozens of lines and characters lay sprawled across the sheet of paper, dancing either impassively or violently. They all trailed off into different sheets, most of which were piled into the bin. The metal bin was full, balls of sheets bouncing off the top of its pile, and the floor littered with the rest of the trashed sketches. The desk careened to one side, near to subside. It was a wonder that it had not collapsed yet, and even though it seemed clear a new desk should be bought, Jack refused. Procrastination was his best friend, something which he depended entirely. That showed when it came to his art. As of late, very few finished pieces could be seen in his portfolio. Otherwise, works-in-progress lied about the room in constant slumber.
The Lily both Dying and LivingWhat makest thee dream?
Art thy worlds not spawned of them?
What hast been wrought of thy realms,
Whilst thou art beset?
Whilst thou rot in thy watery grave,
Hell bringest thy harrowing
Or is it not this that thou hast dreamt of?
Is it that thy heaven shinest upon thy face,
Bringest light for thy dreaming shrine?
Nay, not one be so
Aye, for both be so indeed
For thy dream makest thee bleed
Yet makest thy tourniquet
And bringest a lily both dying and living
Alas! Thy hellish realms come
And those of rapture blighted,
For thou art overcome by thy fears
Lo! Pay not heed of these
For what wroughtest these is but a sojourn
Lo! Thou may sodden these realms with heaven and awe
And thou may wake from thy slumber
Yet dismay not of what dream comest on the morrow
Out from the Gray EveningWhile morning pushed me drearily into noon, I passed the smallest window of my house several times before finally stopping to observe what lied beyond it. I had done this from time to time for weeks, perhaps too often: standing before the smallest window, staring into the same spot though the slouching tree-limbs; the very spot that caught my eye each time, the spot that had no concrete form or obvious potency. There was no reason why I would have to gaze into it, whatever it had been. I knew no other feeling it gave me but curiousness, be that good or bad. And with each day passing, my curiosity grew. It had begun to form an itch that eventually sprouted a tumor. I ached.
Yet I couldn't know what I ached for. Was it to know what it was that stared back at me? Or to know what intentions that would ensue these encounters?
Still I waited. Perhaps I could have been building up to something, an apex of my dull life, something to give the least form of livelihood for which I long yearned. D
Bullied On Our Friendly Website DA
There was once a two authors on a website that wanted to let their opinion out.
But a famous author set to put them out.
She took the flame of these little author’s hearts making them burn from blue to red.
And here’s what she said,
“Your little fire shall be extinguished because I want you to get the Fuck Out!”
The tiny authors wept and cried.
Wondering was it because they picked a side.
Maybe if they had gone with the flow of everyone else
they wouldn't have suffered being a different self?
The small male author thought it was too much to handle and left.
But the dainty female author stayed behind. However
The light within her grew dimmer and dimmer.
And its glow became barely a shimmer.
Her originality became to be like everything else she owned: plastic.
She wasn't real anymore; just another author following the trends.
All hope was lost.
No one to come save her.
Sadness reigned within her,
making her shallow and pale as Frost.
Suckerpunch SweetheartRed lipstick war paint
I am a soldier in my own war;
A force split in two sides.
I am a force of nature
Bring about my own rapture
And I’ll bring you to your knees.
Little girl lost.
Cut off my hair
Cut into my skin
Pretty princess girl
Let me in
Let me in.
Sugar in my veins
And poison in my heart;
I can turn blood
Into a work of art.
I won’t go there again
Won’t do it
A sea of hands
In my head.
A universe inside.
Just what's inside.
V o i c e s
These whispers in my head,
trying to push me to the end.
All I want is to go home,
but then I remember,
I've always been alone.
i cradle my hope
with both hands,
as if holding it close
will give it the warmth
to stay alive.
when you come near
it flares and rustles,
begging to take flight;
yet i am both caress
we have confused our signals,
mixed our drinks and
closure looms ominous
but i would rather forget
than be caught in this
luminous void of
i am weak
you are blind,
perhaps we could be
if only we spoke.
you have unknowingly
in helical fundamentals
about my identity,
shaped me in
the embers of
i wish i knew
when to release
this frail hope.
we're both drunk
and you're shaking,
caught in a moment
neither here nor now.
bring you back to
the present, and i linger
but you are eager to eclipse
so you run.
i'm too afraid to ask,
but at least the question's
we're both cowards.
bound in retrospectpart i.
about wreckage and dreaming,
about nights wept weary,
and how city limits
compress to claim you
when you run.
away early mo(u)rning
and choosing dark over light;
how eventually i stopped
wishing upon stars
what’s the point.
there is no true way
for someone this self-conscious
to let loose streams of
but i'm trying.
you are an immersion
racing down my spine,
along vertebrae as if
they belong to you
but they shouldn’t,
you are long-limbed eyelashes,
a study in faux-reluctance.
you are a cage
i never could penetrate
although you never had much trouble
ignoring my reluctance;
penetration became a game
i never won.
this was never a love story,
but add enough adjective
and i guess it can be
whatever you want it to be.
warped to your ideal,
turn me to my better angle
and hide the flaws;
hide the fa
he/himsomeone came out to me recently, asked me to use
his correct pronouns when we’re alone,
but says whenever i’m over at his home,
‘please could you switch back to the wrong ones? i don’t
want my parents to know who i am.’ so every time i sit at their table
for mashed potatoes and peas, i listen to a father asking
his son how her day was and i hear him start to think that he’s alone
and i watch every wrong word they say strike like an axe into
the trunk of a young sapling who’s just
starting to grow into his own.
i know they don’t know better, but it’s hard not
to hate them when i am censoring every word i say
before it comes out of my mouth, changing secrets into
dinner time conversations, because a boy does not feel
safe enough in his own skin to come clean about something
as pure as the foundation he has been built upon.
later he tells me that he wishes he were strong enough
to just tell them, but he knows his father still
has the c
Demons Can Feel TooI'll admit that I'm a demon.
I'm cold and cruel,
Hateful and quick to anger.
I prefer darkness over light.
But demons can have feelings too.
I can be hurt, offended.
I can be sympathetic.
I can care for other people
And I can love.
I may be a cruel being.
Excessively so at times.
But that doesn't make me heartless.
Though I may seem so,
I do have a heart.
And I do use it.
Just not often.
Because the problem with having a heart
Is it can be broken.
And I don't want a broken heart.
I think maybe that's why demons seem so cruel and hateful.
They're just afraid of getting hurt.
Can I Get a Receipt?I gave the world
and all I got
is bloodied, mutilated wrists
and a death wish.