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we are the deadi.we are the dead
they are corpses piled high in front of darkness, every stirring met with burning and with sharpness; purring screens, digital targets never seen.
in charge of orders, he is turning every wheel, converting murders into popular appeal.
they are corpses, but among them is a light, persevering, engineering in the night; nearing solution, prototyping retribution.
in charge of orders, he's assured of his designs, diverting freedom from the whole of humankind.
&nb
by ~skerd22
non-printing charactersmitten pens kiss pages softly, offering prayers of love with oft-writ words over a quickened heartbeat.non-printing character
but the world is full of art.
we stitch with heartstrings taut and arching; plodding, desperate ink printed on itching parchment.
love translated thus is fleeting.
letter sending and poem reading are not love, are not breathing, are not what our hearts are needing.
for we are bleeding, are ever finite.
love and ink don't meet at twilight, starved and weeping, charmed and sweeping away grammar
by ~skerd22
by ~skerd22
xii. weatheredI am selling at the veins in isolation, tasting metal pressed impatiently; the edges thirst and I present the pauper.xii. weathered
Knotted offers bind the smoothest surface known; a crown is thrown into the fraying company, the building ash the vast debris and knives embledded.
shed it every ounce of vain vitality
each hope of levitation based on truth and pained morality
you're at the sea and we are every sharpened breach
O, where is Reaches?
Has it gone the way of speeches stairs an
by ~skerd22
Favourites
Hysterical BlindnessThe tree on its deathbed- Leaves like children in body bags. I can see the mother's grief, Cream rising from the pavement. Vapors rise- Steaming stains of cotton. Sanity is hidden- A city steeped in the absence. Tea leaves telling futures. Everything has gone missing- Keys to minds, Shapes that would be hearts If they mingled with others. Their posters litter the streets- Caution tape. The clocks stop in perfect poses- Hands in strange, unnatural positions, Supernatural dancers. This is the harbinger- The chalk is forcing itself oHysterical Blindness
by ~schriftsteller
by ~prairiedaisy
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| I'm just a guy. I like to write and I'm okay at reading. I don't take myself seriously. That means I have a FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC sense of humor. Nice to meetcha. wanna keep up with me on facebook? or is twitter more your speed? Gamers in search of new gamerpals? Add me: authenticHATE (on LIVE and Steam) Or just catch me on AIM for chatting/collabs/boredom. -C |
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you've been gifting me with a bunch
of little stars lately. they are all
much appreciated.
xo!
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an antique arms and armor expert
xo!
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an antique arms and armor expert
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Breathe in the Night's Fire and Dance to Rhythms of Broken Poetry...
xo!
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an antique arms and armor expert
always a pleasant surprise
xo!
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an antique arms and armor expert
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where are you now?
--
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www.kathrynjeanes.com
[link]
[link]
[link] ♥
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the truth is that the lies are the reality. Connection is comprehension.
--
If she has to tell the story,
She tells it slowly
- ~AnUrbanNomad, "And They Didn't Sleep..."
I appreciate the support.
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"These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world... and then we fucked up the endgame." - Congressman Charlie Wilson on the covert war in Afghanistan 1980-1989 .
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