Sunday, January 29, 2012


I let her knife dig through
I do not scream; I want none to hear
There are no tears to slither down these cheeks of mine
A strange, angered gust of wind is blowing
It bids me goodbye.

I let her knife go deep into my shoulder
She whispers to me, "stupid, innocent"
And she takes my finger and bends it back
It snaps
I do not scream.  I will not scream.

There is a darkness in life
It shows as clear as the stars
And in my eyes it spreads like dust
But I do not scream.  I will not scream
There is a light in life I will reach.

I will not be vulnerable to this darkness
Or this jealous girl who breaks my fingers
And digs her knife into my shoulder
I stand up on quivering legs
I raise my bloody fist and punch the girl.

"You have no life!" I scream
"You have no life!"
And she stumbles back, her nose flat and gushing
Then for a moment I stare and say
"You take your life for granted."

With hope inside, I run away.

Monday, January 23, 2012


This dimension is vast, individual with so much in it
So complex yet so simple
And all of these concepts get stuck in the mind
Causing confusion all over.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Longing Dragon--a one page sentence

He of little faith, large doubts, unforgiving thoughts was a logical creature, so very polite to others around him and so very wise, so very true in his words, so very respected as a dragon, but his problem was that he could not speak his emotions, and this little world he kept in his longing, longing mind was his only friend to keep him living, hoping, dreaming, longing until someone or something would finally swoop down one starry night to drag him up into a place where he could share his feelings; though his feelings are that of sadness and anger, they are confined into the deepest crevice of his large mind that is larger and cleverer than any other dragon mind on his world, and therefore it often causes him to become depressed, greatly saddened, so very insane until he is to the point where his logic cannot prevail, to the point where he flies to the tops of peaks and back while he takes in large, heavy breaths to fill his suffering lungs, to the point where he will survive off his own blood and scorched scales so that he can watch his own veins pulsate under his hard, silver skin, and it is when he becomes this insane will he mock the gods, especially the deceptive god who had once conquered the world by pretending to be like this longing dragon, purging himself with sour, acidic water to make his throat burn so that vulnerable mortals would take pity on him, running up and down the peaks, murdering himself on the inside, but this dragon is not the deceptive god, for he does not long for power over this small world, rather, he only wants someone to talk to, and this someone he is longing for we do not yet know who or what it is, for finding a true friend takes time, and finding a true friend whose soul you can tie to could take a lifetime.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Scorched Haiku

The clouds shroud them all
One by one they disappear
Though scorched, she still flies.

Night's Grip

The writing glows 
Through the thick window
Thoughts fly
I rise my head to look at the sky

Pencil drops from my grip
And the moon silently moves
Sleep has greeted me
I hang my head.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Extraneous Water

The water sits in the bowl patiently.  It is then disturbed when the river comes along and takes the extraneous water with it.  The extraneous water is now fused in and controlled, like a slave, beaten and torn apart, and left in only hope.


The last nasty note of the tune is played.  Fingers sweat.  The viola begins to dread as she is dreading.  He then asks the question; that most dreaded question alive: "what do you think about when you play this piece?"  She is taken aback and torn, close to death of emotional control.  She then stutters, "water... and... my father."  The tune is slow and emotional, flowing like the wind.  She always thinks of father when she play it.  But her father is passed, and she dreads when she is asked that question by the conductor.  She answer quickly, but the tears still come before she can restrain.  She has played the piece before without emotion, but now the emotion is spreading like plague, and she has no choice but to play out.  She plays again for the conductor, this time, slower, and she is snapped at by tears.  She couldn't care less about the solo.  Her father would want her to care though.  But how can she when he's gone?

Saturday, January 7, 2012


Her heart is bent inside.  So are her scorched back feathers, dark as a sooty star deep in the crevices of space and time.  Her eyes are dark yet clear, emitting a faint white glow only when she is lively and stuck with hope.  She is torn.  She is torn by society and the things it says to her and does to her.  She can't fly away.  Not even her wings can carry her.  And now she chokes from the dirty string that tightens around her bloody, deceased neck.  There are no tears to comfort her.  She doesn't even wish to hope, for she is scared to face it.  The blood only drips faster.  The heart only slows more.  The sun only sinks lower.  Life always ends, she knows, and with all of this agony she endures, she smiles at the last of the blue sky and the first of the stars, then passes by never to return.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Brother and Friend

Where has he gone.  I cannot question.  I cannot say.  But he has gone from my mind since yesterday.  He is a brother to me; he speaks and acts like me.  He even looks like me in many ways.  But I have hidden my true feelings away.  And now I am left with hope that this friendship will prevail instead, and that this Brother of Mine will be there when I am gone, for he is another half to my broken soul.