Stigmata I and IIIStigmata I and II by Philliewig
And all these are fictions too,
In rolls of film, tuberculosis gray.
We recount and recall as if we were madmen,
Locked away in dresser drawers and folio bins,
Our black ink (-stained fingers) running down
these pale passages-
Waistcoats deep in the black soil,
Stroking our egos and straining our necks
To fashion our tongues as red neckties,
All to the rhythm of the doldrums.
In this city of poets and artisans,
I was but a fishmonger:
Selling cheek and tail from the daily catch,
Pulling my pushcart by and down the alleyways;
Caught against the current of the hungry crowd.
And there among the refuse I'd lay
In black sheets of the corner club
Writing line after line of my heroin heaven,
Never mending, forever crafting,
Always creating in pages and in cages,
For I want so much to be Zorro,
But everyone knows my face.
And here in this nation of harlequins and minstrels,
Hearing Half of a Conversation Forgive me for helping you understandHearing Half of a Conversation by Nichrysalis
you’re not made of words alone.
—Roque Dalton; Clandestine Poems
I first learned how to build a house of playing cards in an adolescent psychiatric unit in suburban Chicago. A roommate taught me a trick, a mindset really, to have while placing the cards themselves— that a house of cards is always stacked against itself to stand. My trial-and-error attempts led to a lengthy row of playing cards and
Artists.YouArtists. by Whyles
can be the painter,
paint words on my lips.
will be the writer
and write kisses on your skin.
The Beauty of Snowflakes The black snow shovel with a plastic handle fell to the dark cement, partially masked by the pure, white snow that recently just landed. Maggie huffed from exhaustion, breathing out visible cold puffs, and hanged her head. The sky was drained to white, with snowflakes of various sizes and shapes drifted down from the colourless heaven.The Beauty of Snowflakes by EmeraldGuardian-04
A voice cried behind her. "Maggie, I'm here!" She slowly lifted up her head and turned to the direction of the voice. The cheerful, happy voice belonged to her older sister, Janet. Janet was dressed in her favourite black winter jacket, and wore thick pants that wrapped around her boots. She went to acquire a bigger shovel, walked out of the garage door and stopped, leaving a distance between the two.
"What are you waiting for?" Janet enthusiastically asked. "Let's shovel!"
Maggie heaved out a sigh, and grouchily forced her immobilized legs to walk to her shovel. She bent down to pick up her shovel,
Addison fell asleep somewhere in the apartmenti've marked every cigarette with red paintAddison fell asleep somewhere in the apartment by TheStoyTeller
so that i can find my way to you
when i come home to broken lights and tossed sheets.
i can tell that you haven't slept well in months
and i can smell spilled coffee and vodka on the dining room table.
the walls are decorated in crimson graffiti,
flagging me down and trailing me to your bedroom.
the door is locked, i can tell without touching the nob.
cold air breathes heavily from the crack of the door
tickling the cells of my ankles.
you loved me like you loved nose bleeds at 3am,
and i wish that you were here like the
vibrant red tint that softly brushes
and hugs the cells of your hands
but the cigarette packet is empty.
your face is hot
your palms are frozen, your fingers are numb
and neither of us will damage ourselves with addiction
Tobacco ArmageddonA freshly-made omelette implodes with a "thud,"Tobacco Armageddon by myriadwhitedarkness
result of an attempted "good morning!" flood.
Your smile broke my limit, the doughnuts just flew;
a tempestuous barrage from me unto you.
The coffee is splattered all over the walls,
some melting eclairs are smeared in the halls.
The sausage was good until you said my name.
A lunatic mantra exploding my brain.
My fingers are shaking and I cannot see,
there's a force inside me that wants to be free.
Please run before I do what I might regret,
I just haven't had my morning cigarette.
InanityWhen feel-good films were mentioned in my English class, the teacher used to utter the word platitudes as if it had a sour tasteInanity by bonfirelights
as if there was something wrong with making people happy,
as if a smile wasn’t worth the twelve-or-so muscles it took to put it there.
Some people glamorise darkness, and I wonder if they’ve ever touched the real kind –
the one that’s ice-cold,
the one that shakes you day in and day out until you’re every definition of exhausted
and you’ve still got to keep pushing
I don’t think they’d want it if they knew.
When I was five I believed that there was something different about me; some tick in the mechanics and I think I’m relearning that now.
I just want happiness, no matter how cheaply it comes or how briefly it stays
happiness like a trip to the gas station or an unexpected compliment,
happiness like a sprint through the rain.
Maybe I’m a succubus, wild for it,
The suicide noteIt was upon a scrap of paper,The suicide note by deviantsaster
That she began her final labor.
Every letter that she scrawled,
Would leave the toughest man appalled.
Every sentence screamed with pain,
That no one could ever hope feign.
Of days where breathing felt like drowning,
And how everyday she'd taken a pounding.
Every cut and every bruise,
She was every cyber bully's muse.
She'd lie awake and hate herself,
In the dark she'd call for help.
She fell into a terrible dream,
And everyone left her alone to scream.
She put up walls around her hell,
And one by one all her 'friends' fell.
She called into the darkness of her lonely home,
Realizing at last that she'd been left alone.
On her wrists were bands that told her not to cut
So she lay on the floor with her eyes shut.
When people came to break down the doors,
They never saw her on the floor.
So concerned with empty rooms,
They trampled on her in the gloom.
With her body and spirit broken,
She went down to the local river,
Drank vodka to try and kill her liver.
The First BlastTim left his home in a daze. He wandered across his lawn freely, like someone who knew he had to get somewhere but who had no idea where that was. He looked up at the cloudless sky, staring right into the sun. He shut his eyes, then opened them and turned them down the row identical, brightly coloured two story houses that made up his neighbourhood. Still somewhat in shock, but slightly more confident in his movements, he began to walk down the row, just skirting the edges of the bright green lawns and paved driveways.The First Blast by EricAMBM
Almost everywhere he went, families were gathering on their yards. The same shock and awed loss of direction was apparent in everyone’s faces, as if they had all woken up from a strange dream. He nodded politely to those he passed, waving hello to a few. They returned the favour, though their friendly smiles carried even less genuine feeling than normal.
The cause for their shock and awed expressions was clear. No one questioned it, everyone understood as soon as t
WordsI can remember at least – much longer than the rest of society. I know how things have changed, and I can never stop myself from laughing, and then wanting to stab out the eyes of the beast. Because that’s the only way you can harm a hydra, get back at it for being able to grow more heads.Words by W-Lupus
At least when I use the metaphor, I can target something. It’s not just some smart literary flare that is meant to tick marks, because let me tell you, that’s all I feel I’m doing anymore. The judge and jury are eternally out, and if I don’t meet their expectations, it’s off with my head. And yet they teach us in English classes about literature that was written for its own sake. I’ve got to write what you approve of.
Pity, because I’m mocking the idiots all the time. It’s often said the trouble of text is that you can’t hear the tone. Who knows when I’m being sarcastic? It’s certainly not when I’m giving painfu
Following a BreakupHe walked quietly cringing at the softest creak of the floorboards. He said his morning prayers in a whisper, and he wondered if the smell of his light roast wanted to make its way into her nose this morning. Some days it did, some days it did not. This morning, however, the wind chased him everywhere he turned in the kitchen. At times, it blew softly through his heart with a feathers touch, softly enough to caress his papers on the table and float them above the table as a breeze does sometimes with leaves in the fall. The memories! Their first movie together when Clara told him she was cold because he was too shy to put his arm around her otherwise. Their second movie when they held hands for the first time and he was so nervous when her fingers caressed his knuckles because he had little hairs on them and he thought maybe Clara wouldn’t like that. The night they kissed for hours in his old beat up truck in the parking lot of theFollowing a Breakup by ScotchRock
-Only Tonight- a short story-Only Tonight- a short story by AlyssaStehle
Sometimes I think I hate everyone. I hate everything. Then, ten minutes later I’m in love with everyone. I love everything. I wonder what’s wrong with me. One hour after midnight and I left my glass slippers behind in a far off puddle. I left my coffin gaping open, sucking in the foul basement air. I guess I’m not like Cinderella at all. I’m not waiting for any prince. I’m looking for a light snack.
I’m a hungry hunter. Strolling barefoot through the lonely park that breathes softly with trembling branches and the smell of rain. The sky is hanging low with swirly gray clouds. Ah, I wish it’d rain some more! Crying sky, crying hearts. They are all delicious to me. Right now, I love everything. I’m even skipping a little bit. I’m excited for some reason. For no reason. Maybe, it’s my pretty yellow dress dancing aroun
The Maybe Someday BoyThe maybe someday boyThe Maybe Someday Boy by crimsonzettaIV
In life so many things are said to be painted in black and white. Choices that affect us, whether or not we ourselves made them, have to be fit into good or bad categories. There is a pressure, an urge from our society, to instantly make a declaration of finality regarding what occurs in our lives. Do we love them or hate them? Is it now or never? Were they “the one”, or a cataclysmic mistake?
But is it so simple? It cannot be.
I once read that between the ages of sixteen and twenty, up to seventy percent of us meet our future partner. That statistic, while gaping in its possibilities, fails to follow through and list the percentage of how many work out in the end. But the numbers don’t lie. What they fail to tell us is that perhaps we have met them, maybe even held their hand, mocked their beards or helped design the ink that now decorates their fleshy canvas. What if our roads already crossed, and yet here we are, many days later walking the pa
.Release me.You're lying on your bed late at night, in your room without lights...Release me. by BlackRoseMew
Your eyes are looking somewhere in the black dark, not focusing anywhere...
Trying to remember the title of the song you were listening to earlier..
The clock is ticking, every second that passes by. It is so pie and peaceful. Everything can be heard.
Now you're hearing the voice inside of your head so intense, clear as crystal..
RELEASE ME! The song title was Release me! What could be the story behind the song, you wondered..
A smile appeared. Your eyes are still looking on the black walls, where the trip begins, you're thinking, connecting situations, becoming abstracted.. hundreds of foolish thoughts crosses your mind, and other hundreds of important thoughts do the same, it’s like a chain.. You remember people, hear their voices, you see smiles, memories.
You start thinking of details you didn't believe you could still remember. Not anymore at home, you're on your old 's schoolyard, at the park of your o
.Save me.Past midnight..Save me. by BlackRoseMew
The girl was lying ragged on her bed. Insomnia.
She scratched the mattress while thinking intensely.
For a while as her eyes were staring at the ceiling, pictures of her life appeared in front of her eyes. She didn't want to remember anything, but the details were so intense, which wouldn't allow her to forget. Colors, smells, voices .. everything so real.
She closed her eyes, weeping .. looking for tranquility, the absolute vacuum.
Her weakness was holding her back, she felt trapped. As if she was tied by invisible chords, which choke her. Pulled her in the dark.
Every single night the same dream.. She escapes, finds herself and survives. But awakens again in reallity. And the nightmare begins again ..
Speaking each night to herself, searching for courage, hoping to wake up one morning without realizing that it was all just a dream.
Alone she walks through the darkness, looking for the strength to get away from everything, be redeemed.
Just Coincidence....?Just Coincidence?Just Coincidence....? by elilee23
My name is Eli and I wrote this because I just wanted to share my experience.
It really makes me wonder if destiny really exists or if everything is a simple coincidence .
Since I was really young I was noticing some weird coincidence . For example when I was 11 years old,
I was reading the book “the number 33”. The main characters last name was Louvaris .
Outside my house there is an Industry with the name Louvaris.
That year I went also to a Holiday Kids Camp , and I stayed with 5 more girls in the room 33 by chance .
Last year , while I was on vacation ,on a Wednesday I saw a dream :
" my grandfather was searching for me , I traveled by plane on a Thursday and when I met him I told him
<I love you Grandpa> and hold him tight ,then I saw he disappeared."
That day my mother woke me up , telling me that my grandfather was really sick and we had to leave
immediately. But all the tickets for Wednesday were sold out , so we booked tickets for Thur
Dreams in the Cold Light filtered through the glass panels of the window, flooding the room with its dimness. The air felt light and cold, with a certain moistness to it. Heavy clouds sat atop of the sky outside, prepared to give a start to rain any moment. Night time, a typical winter one. Thomas stretched his arms across the sofa, cold numbing his fingers on both legs and arms, and felt around him with his eyes still closed, searching for the blanket he swore had been close moments ago. He groaned and turned to a side after not finding it with his hands, annoyed by the cold, but not wanting to fully awake and get up to played in his TV at all.Dreams in the Cold by General-Aerlinniel
He groaned, finally waking up fully, and kicked himself up so he was no longer sitting down. The numbness in his fingers too much to be able to ignore. He looked around, sud
[OC Crossover] Daily Bread[OC Crossover] Daily Bread by Lagoon-Sadnes
The vast indigo ceiling still refused to give in and leave the place to the newcomer, the same as its little lamps that guided the lost ones. The cold winds from the north flew across the lands, above the lines set by the walls of the city-country and they soon reached me. My hair waved softly but I was unable to feel their cool embrace. They also took the scent of the first meals and the bread which was baking in the ovens, along with the perfume shop and the florist’s beautiful flowers’ essences. The tiny lights kept struggling before my eyes, one by one falling, until the whole system was switched off. That was the moment when the dark blue ink started to flow and revealed the hidden colors buried underneath, orange, purplish and yellow hues which stretched out as dense poured liquid. Then, the radiant bulb peered out from behind the line that divided earth and sky and came out shyly, quietly, to bathe one of the bastions that fought fiercely against the everlasting-like
DesejoQual é o seu desejo?Desejo by Eddkun
Que o Mundo se quebre
Quer quebrar o Mundo com suas Próprias Mãos?
Eu poderia fazer isso, mas seria apenas por diversão
No Fim, nada mudaria
Eu Também sou parte desse mundo distorcido
O que você deseja?
Que o mundo se quebre
Que algo diferente aconteça
Me cansei de ver todos os dias
O Bem se tornar Mal, e o Mal se tornar Bem
O amor é a Unica Solução
Mas eu ainda não consigo amar
Como Parte desse mundo distorcido
Eu só consigo odiar
Eu sou diferente
e ainda assim
igual a todos
Second Annual LLTY Contest [Now Open!]UPDATE II: More Prizes!!!!Second Annual LLTY Contest [Now Open!] by RiseandbeStronger
UPDATE: Prizes and dates have been updated! The Love Letter to Yourself Contest is officially open!!! Ready, Set, Write!
Concept: Self love. Write a love letter to yourself. In poem or prose form.
Further interpretation of theme is up to you.
**If I'm confused about how it is a love letter to yourself, I may ask. Be prepared to explain any work you submit.
Prose cannot exceed 2000 words, and can be no less than 200.
Poetry can be no longer than 40 lines of text (blank lines/ spaces between stanzas not included). Nothing shorter than haiku.
You must not include anything hateful towards yourself.
You must include the theme, name of contest, and a direct link to this journal in the author's comments of each piece you submit.
Two submissions per person are allowed, either poetry or prose, two of ea
Love dA Lit: Issue 160Welcome to the one-hundred sixtieth issue of Love dA Lit! Every Sunday this article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.Love dA Lit: Issue 160 by IrrevocableFate
Note: Sorry about last week, I ended up doing a last-minute thing and wasn't able to post the article. ♥
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March Literature NewsletterAlthough it's still early in the year and at a time when things aren't moving that fast, the Lit Community hasn't seemed to realize that. Contests have been fluttering all around, features are being posted, forum challenges are being issued and really just so much more. And if you haven't already, be sure to swing by DorianHarper's profile and thank him for his service as a Lit CV.March Literature Newsletter by GrimFace242
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Lit Contest: The More Things Change...the more they stay the same.Lit Contest: The More Things Change by neurotype
Iiiiit's contest time! All original literature welcome.
This is a speculative fiction contest—the technology requirement could cover steampunk, 'John Carter,' 'The Windup Girl,' 'Watchmen,' '2001: A Space Odyssey' or about anything else you can think of. The one thing that isn't permissible is magic.
That was a joke.
Your story must center around the development of a relationship between two entities.
Some things to consider:What kind of relationship is it? (No, "relationship" doesn't have to mean "romance.")Who/what is it between?Is the development positive/negative?
The relationship must be noticeably changed at the end.Distance/death don't count if they're still besties or whatever.I don't mean changed personalities. I mean a changed relationship.
Plausible but (currently) nonexistent technology must be integral to the development of this relationship.Time travel goes forward.Nothing goes faster than light, a
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Letters to love...
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Do Not DisturbThe three little words on sign swinging on the door knob makes my heart bleed, my throat itch, my fists tighten and my legs tremble as I think of you on the other side. I can hear you giggling and kissing her. You need to stop now before you do something you’ll regret.
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