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A Sadstuck of Rage and HeartKurloz slouched down onto the dirty pavement of the alleyway. Sirens wailed past the alleyway where he hid, and remained in the distance, a constant background noise. The city was crowded, yet he felt so alone. He wanted to cry, but he forced himself not to. His dad had gotten angry at him again, and Kurloz couldn't figure out why.
The sky was quickly going dark, and Kurloz thought about going home, but thought better of it. Better to let his dad cool off and start worrying about him. The streetlights and vehicle headlights glared through the evening light, and the overcast sky began to pour rain onto the earth. Kurloz's black hoodie and grey jeans became soaked in a matter of seconds, and he sighed, head resting on the grimy brick wall behind him.
The far end of the alley was a dead end, but there was a slight outcrop from higher up the building that would shelter him from the rain. He got up and then collapsed on a garbage bag once he was under the shelter, and then jumped up suddenl
Fate and DestinyFate and Destiny
The girl called Fate, and the boy called Destiny met together one night among the starry skies.
“Which of us is better?” the white-haired Fate asked.
“Whichever is less painful,” replied the raven-haired Destiny.
And thus began the rivalry.
Fate decided that she would govern the lives of humans and decide what would happen to them from the day they were born to the day they died.
Destiny decided to guide the humans from the wrong paths and help them live to the fullest potential.
Fate was cruel, and many humans died. She watched their pain from her starry throne and laughed, for there was nothing their screaming souls could do.
Destiny was kinder, and the humans flourished under his rule. From his throne he could see their joy at their freedom to choose where they would go.
Centuries later, Fate confronted Destiny.
“How are you so much better than I, you who lets the foolish humans choose for themselves?”
He replied, “My dear F
Life and DeathLife and Death
Life sat in the garden,
Beneath the Tree of Wisdom.
A crunch from behind;
A dead bird;
And Death walked out from the forest.
Life’s eyes lit up;
Her brother came to see her!
She rushed to greet him
“Oh, dear brother, how I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, little Life”
But he knelt down and pushed her away.
Life was confused, and pain flashed through her mind
A horrid disease had nestled in her arm!
“Brother, what’s happening to me?!”
Cried little Life hysterically.
“Oh, little one, all good things must end.”
And all Death did was grin
And take Life’s breath away.
Even in Death.
Eyes On Fire,
Three In the Morning,
I Need Some Sleep.
Kids With Guns,
We Are Young.
Kill Your Heroes,
Once Upon A Time.
A Taste For Adventure.
Somebody Told Me,
She’s a Rebel.
…And Then She Bled.
Jack the King of FrostJack the King of Frost,
Was not meant to be King at all.
But his crown-prince brother ran away,
So then Jack had no more time for play.
A year he ruled, for his father was ill,
With grief for the run-away Luce,
Until he died in his sleep,
And Jack had to rule alone.
Another year passed, and the kingdom was in ruins
For jack was a terrible ruler.
He was confused and had no assistance,
So he made terrible decisions.
His brother returned after 2 years gone,
With his new wife by his side.
He expected to be welcomed heartily by the family he had left,
But instead was turned away.
Jack grew angry and his family felt betrayed,
For Luce was supposed to be ruler.
"If you hadn't left, this never would've happened!"
And Jack rushed at Luce with his sword.
A fight ensued, and Luce ended up dead
Because he couldn't kill his baby brother.
His mother and sisters cried, because they couldn't stop them in time,
And so all three went away.
Jack, poor Jack, the King of Frost
Everyone he ever loved is los
Chronicle of a Past WinterThere has been only a few moments in my life where I have truly felt alive. The following bit of writing is a small chronicle detailing one of those events:
Four years ago this December, I was a very different person than the person who sits here writing this today. I was 16 and a junior at a local high school. I was skinny as a twig after lots of weight in during the previous year.
The year had been up and down. I had fallen in and out of love with a girl who was more confusing than a rubik's cube. A month after our break up, I lost my grandpa. He had always been an inspiration to me and he had always shown me how powerful knowledge really can be. I want to be the kind of man he was and I will never forget the impact he had on my life. Somehow in all of it I managed to stay sane and grind my way through day-by-day and month-by-month.
The first four months of school flew by fast. My Chinese improved rapidly as I took up as a teacher's assistant with my Chinese teacher. I was att
The SunflowerMy grandpa had a garden
It was the most magical thing I had ever known
And is probably the reason I love nature so much now
When I was little, he would take me outside to his fields, where rows of beautiful flowers, plump tomatoes, and so much more were planted in straight rows. Behind that was a green patch where an Indian tribe had made their home for what seemed like a very, very long time. We found arrow heads scattered almost everywhere, and even the occasional bone or two. Nearly all of my childhood memories resided in his yard. Well, either there or his kitchen. But thats a different story
I remember going to the store with him, hand in hand. We picked out seeds for the years crops. He would get the seeds packs he needed, and I got the seeds packs that had pictures I didn't know, because "I wanted to see every plant that ever existed." My words exactly. My grandpa would laugh and tell me there was way to many plants for that kind of dream, but I still wanted to try. I had always
a small tidbit of a personal pieceprompt: talk about a place you love, conveying your peace with it without outright saying that you love it.
I have three lamps in my room, and two of them are hardly very bright. Both sort of cast everything (except for the cluttered corners) into a soft glow. The other only works when it's dark outside and the other lights are off. It throws everything into a blue-ish glow and somehow makes it feel like a place faeries would escape to.
The bookshelf is small, but it's enough to fit my favourite books and memories. The walls and ceiling are painted blue and green and are covered in posters and art and doodles so I can't see enough of the colours to regret the crappy decorating job I did as a kid. My blankets are soft enough for my cat to sit on and he smells like sugar cookies and looks like home so I'm happy if he is. The desk is covered in marker that bled through my paper and paint that I couldn't get to stay on the page.
Sometimes it's sil
Singer and PlayerGuitar Playing
" Baby I'm going to leave you"
Maybe I don't understand subtle.
But I sang your tunes
Listened to your blues.
Sometimes, making music
was the only way I could talk to you
the ache in my heart was so loud
that I thought you had plucked it out,
and played with my veins
the most beautiful melody
but would never let me hear it
I wonder constantly
What am I supposed to do?
But I still sang
like a little caged bird
trapped in the hollow of your guitar.
Bawling BrawlYou're a bully. A pathetic nuisance like any other.
From an early age, you slammed me down,
and I didn't even realize that it was you doing it.
You were subtle and I wasn't being strong because I didn't have a reason to be.
I got sick of you fast. I refused you.
You don't deserve to be a part of my life.
And you think I'll forgive you?
No matter how many times you ask,
plead, beg, cry, whine, scream, and yell,
you will never be a part of me because
I am stronger than you,
I am wiser than you, and
I can play your game.
You want to kill me.
You hate me. Now?
I hate you.
I want you dead.
I choose to live.
I choose to fight.
I want you dead.
Sun and MoonSome days I can't sleep
Smell your cologne in my sleep
Remember my childish squealing
Remember that now I'm still healing
From the cigarette burns,
that you left on my heart,
From the pills that were left in me
Poison from the start.
Do you remember,
the first time we met?
Eyes across the hallway
and the beating of my heart
Just like your guitar
and the squealing of the
children around you.
Oh the irony
Maybe I'll tell you one day.
But did you count
every day that went by?
because I know that I counted
every sleepless night
When I wondered where you'd gone
and if you were alright.
And the what if's that drove me crazy
and your motives that were unknown.
I swear I'm coming to California,
as soon as I get home.
If we'll still be able to get along.
Even if the time difference
is so wrong.
Can we still get tattooed?
If I don't speak to you.
If I can't trust you.
And the future
is so bright
Like the way I
The Lone PineappleSo, picture this: its 9:00 pm in the small town of Goch, Germany, with only teenage stoners and elderly mobs roaming the streets. A foreign girl in a t-shirt reading "okemos choirs" is walking home from a restaurant alone, staring judgmentally at the stoners and respectfully avoiding the gazes of her elders. Suddenly, she stops and looks down. A lone pineapple is at her feet. The girl stares it it for a moment, thoroughly bemused, and then continues her journey home. The end.
***I shit you not, there was a pineapple on the sidewalk...just laying there...what type of self-respecting pineapple just lays around on the middle of a sidewalk, so that anyone can trip over it?***
So Now This is HomeThis is someplace new again
and it's hot and empty and dirty
The voices are quieter here,
the air is stagnant
But the stillness is a relief
And he puts on his bravest heart
and drags the sheets to the floor
Just like a campout
Like an adventurer
sleeping in the wild abyss
The moon high above through the window
and there are spiders in the garden
Oh this is someplace new
Ill fitting like new shoes
And he cries because the old places are gone
And he also cries because he is happy they are gone
and maybe this time
It will be better
And he falls asleep
on his eyelashes
Ode to Andrew HussieOde to Andrew Hussie
He who has written so much
About four kids
And 24 (36?) of an alien race
And how everyone dies and yet
Are still alive
Through some slim chance.
Detectives and gang-member mobsters
Have met the same fate
Of dying over and over again
But are still alive to the reader’s great joy
Or chagrin, if the re-undead is a foe.
But it is all still the same.
You have achieved what so many strive for:
To be well known by thousands
And then maybe millions.
And I congratulate you,
You have become a god.
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