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My MuseI sat at my desk, staring at the computer. The blank white screen of my word processing program stared back, mocking me.My Muse by Leona629
I ripped the glasses off my face and threw them on the desk. Twelve hours before I had to have this story to my editor, and I hadn't written so much as a word, never mind the fifteen pages I was contracted for. Another extension was out of the question; I'd had two already. If this wasn't ready in the morning, I wasn't getting paid.
I reached for my tea cup. Empty. Figures.
Out of desperation, I popped the used teabag in my mouth and stared sucking on it. My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to get any vestiges of liquid caffeine from the poor, abused leaves.
It probably would have been better if I'd just liked coffee. Or espresso even. No lack of caffeine there.
The taste in my mouth became bitter and I spit the bag back into the cup. It was a very ladylike gest
Thank you for your lies.I suppose I can not blame you for this.Thank you for your lies. by Blue-A-Touille
I had a hand in destroying the bridge we gapped between our own fears and doubts of making a wrong decision with each and every step. I was the one who lit the match that set your fears aflame and caused you to run the other way in fear. It was from my mouth the dreaded words were uttered, the ones you never wanted to hear. Were you ever afraid of hearing them? Or did you only claim you trusted me for your own sake?
I suppose you had done the right thing.
It was the right decision to part our separate ways, to never speak the other's name again, to never uproot the stowed and dreaded memories of the existence of a hope. It was a good thing to leave things the way we did; angry, confused, hurt. It was right to whisper unwanted words with tears swelled up in my eyes. It was right, I tried my very best never to be wrong. Have you? No, you hadn't dealt out your full score of damage.
I suppose I can not blame you for that.
If you changed your mind so
Wolf ChurchWolf ChurchWolf Church by WYNTERFANG
Bless me Father for I have sinned
That's how they all start as they begin. Bless me Father for I have sinned but who? Which Father are we talking to as we blurt out every last detail of the wrongs we have committed? Who is really on the other side of the screen?
All through my years of Catholic schooling, they took me in to the Cathedral, a huge stone citadel of silence and holy calm. A shiver of warmth tickled my skin and shot up my spine each time I entered, a feeling of awe replacing whatever I was feeling before.
But now, I fidgeted impatiently in the line, shifting from one foot to the other, leaning against the wall, and trying to focus on something. My eyes wandered around the empty pews and wooden pillars, stretching as high as the heavens themselves. My mind roamed through the empty church, the light fading from the stain glass windows, the colors bleeding out onto the carpet, staining them with a myriad of bold colors. Slowly, the light leeched from the
The Fall BetThe Fall BetThe Fall Bet by joninasa
Eight o'clock PM, the perfect time to get home. He couldn't miss this game. He bet on the Saints for a whopping two grand. As he pulled into his driveway, he recalled the foolish argument with his best friend and co-worker, Nick, on whether or not the Vikings had a chance. When he thought about the look on Nick's face, he began to get a little eager. He has lost the last four bets he made with Nick, this was the chance he, Howard Shaw, had been waiting for. Upon entering the house, he immediately turned on the television and began setting up his usual array of football snacks. Birthday cake flavored ice-cream, chips and dip, beer, and the entire pan of (shy of two) brownies he had baked the previous night. Howie settled down on his couch and began to watch, texting Nick gloating remarks as the Saints commenced the destruction of the opposing team.
That lasted until the Saints stopped scoring and Vikings began. Nick's messages grew less sulky and more gleeful as Howard's to
Daily Literature Deviations for May 10, 2010Daily Lit Deviations for May 10th, 2010Daily Literature Deviations for May 10, 2010 by DailyLitDeviations
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A lovely sonnet that has everything you will
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A saddening, but beautifully written poem
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Freud and Broken Christmas TreesShe spilled the news on me before I even had the chance to react. And what would you even say to that, anyways? I'm sorry? Geez, that sucks? How's it feel to be an only child now? No. Never. You don't say that kind of stuff. You will never be able to find the words to say until it happens to you, too. God forbid.
And she just kind of stared at me. That look was piercing, haunting. It froze my tendons and turned my thoughts to dust. I was a nothing, I was worse than the dirt under her shoes. Because I couldn't solve anything. Because I couldn't make it better. Because I was just as helpless as she was, and she hated me for it.
The feeling wasn't a red, or a black. It wasn't any colour I could really name, but it wasn't a gray either. It was a block of things, a puzzle, the outline of a crumpled soda can. Edges poking inside to spill the remains out through the tiny pinpricks, the fractures in the metal. I could go on and on into metaphors but she – I don't have words to describe her eye
Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:
When the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound is she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.
Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Though her eyes
tell of time waiting,
when the wind was lonesome and
slaughtering butterflies in its chill.
They turned, almost at once
Eyes gray, yet dancing with the frenzied
glory of cosmos.
Striking out at her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
She understood, "Your laurel leaves speak of death
but I still need you."
And he wept, "Your garland
speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."
"Here, is where I still love you
this place, where arms renounce arms
with care, warmth and adoration."
"My arms tangle in shadows, and
my mind only imagines; night falls
on my face within the whirlpool;
Your spark is the farthest from me; distraught
and left desolate, in Ithaca."
(She holds all his hopes)<
Any morning of the week you can walk into your local knock off brand grocery store and find stacks of newsprint papers on your left as you walk in, wiping snow dust off your shoe onto the mat before the crystal flakes melt past the leather into your now soggy black cotton socks.
Not one minute in the dairy milk perfumed air after you walk in through automatic sliding doors, then past windows barring gusts of snow dunes, and there are newspapers. Newsweek, Times, Global something are all there but you pass them for the local paper.
The winter moisture that had soaked into your skin now has already evaporated and the paper grates against your skin as you pick up the local paper. You look up and feel for silver change in your pocket and walk over to the counter where no one else stands before the cashier. At 7am everyone is either in school, on their way to work, at work, or sick in bed. Except for you, because you're different. Your skin is as dry as everyone else's but since last night
The Final PunishmentNo thoughts could enter his mind, but if he could wish for something, it would be for nothing at all. There was no longer any desire in his heart, for at last it's flame had dissolved in streams of blood it had ignored. The monster inside him was gone, as too himself.
Their grip tighten around his wrist, and they pulled him forward deeper against the stone pavement. He could feel the glares of the imperial guard intense with hatred run across his browned bare back and almost singe his white speckled wings to pieces. Their powder white uniform were purelessly clean, the buttons reflecting the high noon sun also evilly.
Thrown onto the silver platform, guards surrounded his busily clicking chains around his feet, hands, and finally his neck. Ropes rubbed angrily against his feathers, and a few fell to the ground sparingly. He looked up into the face of his undiscovered equal.
People of White called him their steel hero; People of Red called him the brutal monster. His eyes were black as
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