Yep. Very new. A bit emo, maybe.

your footsteps in the hall, your lively gait- the death knell

"take me into your head, and let me live there..." look- a poem! i'm NOT dead. constructive criticism would make my day, as lack of any inspiration has made this a little shaky...

I want her to stop looking for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome because he has this tendency to dominate his romantic partners. (political/personal, genre-wise.)

it’s not like it’s something he could give back.

the racketbucket into the city (is a symbol, actually). i'm a little scared.

it's all about the way she moves. (Funny- after I wrote this, I found out Helen's from Sparta. Haha. History, you know.)

She needs to straighten her back and take her eyes from the sidewalk...

...

amongst glittery big city lights.

"you never want to...breathe this stale gasoline, greasy fast-food air again" another poem about a character from that one story.

and i always get ripped. wide. open.

i'm just this punk kid

nothing's really changed- except something in my head. but since when does that count?

I am intensely aware of a clock ticking tocking tocking even though there isn’t one around.

too much to say too much to say, but nothing's ever said, it won't ever be said. (review me, i review you...simple enough, ne)

And the best compliment I’ve ever gotten is “You’d really be beautiful if your face matched your body”

sinister barbed-wire glory (Prose. A little abrupt but I like it that way.)

the operator’s fallen asleep at his desk

twisted mini-galaxies peppered with social land mines and emotional nukes

like with asbestos, prolonged exposure will ruin you in later years

you could touch my heart with your fingertips if you reached across the inches—closed the distance—you’d feel how much it hopes to meet yours

"Pinprick sky vast, peppered with cosmic streetlights..."

he could run me through a paper-shredder with a look

involving an alligator, a frying pan, a gong and a man in a floppy hat...but really, it's not what you think.

leaving empty spaces and static

It's just because we were so sick of being sick- so after awhile we just decided not to be anymore. Sometimes you need something to be beautiful when nothing else is.

lines in " " belong to Sugarcult, not I. It's like a breakup poem, but without the romance.

[insert something witty here]

"Life is short and long all at once, and that’s a great cliché right there, but what I said was: Let’s be alright."

Because I guess I do not say what I mean, even though I mean what I say, and it oddly works. But not really.

(Oneshot. Thank Finch, mainly, for the title)

"You whispered to me, in the dark, with the blind-filtered moonlight..." (I like the beginning, but somewhere down the line I begin to dislike the tone. Thoughts)

...

"People, I could see people milling around my house." They were watching me.

FREE VERSE

As if, if they had ruby red slippers, they would be in the dream, their better place.

the line in " " is not mine. It is a quote from "Strawberry" and it belongs to Everclear. The rest of it is mine, though...whatever. I don't even know what the point of this is.

(and finally it has a title)

yellow-red-black-brown...we're all blue on the inside. Really I'm just (sick) tired of things.

She doesn't believe me. (originally titled "we're all mad here)

Of the same persuasion as the last one. No description. I have no words.

It's hard to ignore someone who claims to be your best friend as they carefully look around you, not through you, to the other side of the room. Because she prefers empty, polite conversations. I hate her.

PROSE- Blinking lights are the only things that catch your eye, no matter how hard I try. Your glow blocks me from view. (I'm in love with a false romantic).

(place your hands on me, like concealer on my scars and bruises, kiss me and make it hurt as bad as cigarette burns)

It was a normal day, initially, it had, in fact, started out as a fabulous day. He would have told his wife all about it, he was sure she would have listened, but he, Robert Johnson, didn't get a chance. No one did. (modern fantasy)

I think it rained on his parade (Street-sides, iron fences, we've got enough water in containers saved from tears-don't need the rain, it doesn't matter.) (I like the beginning a bit more than the end R-R)

But eternity is over in half a second, and when you open your eyes all you see are the dirty white walls of bathroom stalls. And the euphoria, or languorous ambivalence, has once again disappeared with the rising sun.

November's dead and gone, rotting in a graveyard with July. The funeral took place on the same day he asked whether the pictures on the white walls were taken in Italy or Spain. (PROSE-ISH ANGST)

(PROSE) It was a sleek, black box, dripping with pastel colors, heavy with the kind of love that they sing about in alternative-songs, when you lose someone, in a very permanent way. I felt that he didn't belong in a box.

I was holding it in my fingers before, fragile like glass-porcelain butterflies with broken spider-wings and then I blinked and it disappeared...(Name the manga)

a junkie, addicted to the drugs you inject into my veins, infecting my heart, eating out my mind like something twisted, and violent, and sexual. -I'm told it's a bit melodramatic. I'm sure it is.

...

I’m a person of painfully earnest lines and uncomfortable silences. (YAY! FIXED FORMATTING)

creating craters that we litter with dead bodies. i don't know what else to say.

" Built on f-ed up wannabe romances, and too many bad memories." :D Constructive criticism sought and appreciated!

Rain that pitter-pattered, pitter-pattered/on what was the ceiling but might have been the floor/For some reason it stained my face forever

they don't make airbags like they used to. jagged glass hurts.

(Concrete sidewalks with weeds growing in the cracks from years past/rushing up to break my fall and greet me.

Reviewing something that was, in essence, a rather awkward situation. Melodramatic and that kind of :distasteful: style.

Would you like a taco? I'm sure you would. I know I would. Of course. You'd be crazy not to like tacos. Yes, bonkers. Har har har. Here, take a taco, courtesy of Marco. (Inos is not owned by me)

She likes to paint pictures of the way people look when they're deceased...Whether they're dead and rotting, or alive and breathing. They're saints when they're gone.

Bandaids fix everything from broken hearts to souls divided.../He made a promise he never had any intention of keeping/And that was just another loss in the domino effect...wasn't it? Some swears.

What can I say? [Insert face Here]

A portrait of a girl, who feels she's about to quit. Let's crack the glass, and get to know her. They're just words, girl, they mean nothing.

How can anything be clear when what you think is an illusion, could also be very, very real?

Odd how one can unknowingly confront one’s worst fears in the dim/ and drear yellow light of what you think is a 60 watt bulb.../but probably isn’t.

Title has nothing to do with the poem. o.O I thought of this while walking home from the beach, it's pretty much just a reflection on the events of that day. Something like that. Read and review, mates!

Inspired by the Deftones song "Mascara". No idea why I thought of this during that song...but eh. Read and review, peoples! :)

A poem that I found in my sketchbook, written late 2003 or early 2004 I think. O.o" I liked it. So here it is. Read, review, and enjoy! :)

R for heavy swearing, and some descriptions of rather morbid stuff. Sorry isn’t enough/It can’t ever be, right?/Yeah, yeah that’s true/And I can’t say it anymore anyway/After seven thousand/It gets to be stale

Altus Morda, #1 assassin for crimelord Jack of Rijitsu, gets tangled up with vampires and things happen. Set in an Alter-Earth. Rijitsu is where NYC is. M/M pairing, light, don't like don't read. Chapter Three will be edited. Chapter Six up.

Posted on Wcooler under the name Looking For a Time. Err...Angry/sad/confused poem. Enjoy...and review! heh...

Thing written in early June. It's short, but I think it's nice.A bit morbid, title explains what I think it's about. Feel free to tell me your impressions. It'd be interesting to hear.

Weasel Sootmouth is a character from Orson Scott Card's Hart's Hope. This is a songish thing I wrote maybe a week ago...Read on!

Original Title: Twisted Thoughts of a Reflection in a Puddle of Broken Glass. Late-night, partly Linkin Park inspired. Mostly tired and sad, one swear.

Rating may be a bit strong...but I don't know. It's just an emotion thing. Surprised I wrote it. And it probably sucks. But...whatever.

'Don't Ever doubt me. I feel just fine.' First line. I can't think of a description for this one, so just read it.

Don't ask where the name came from. Spur of the moment, thoughts lurking beneath the surface type of poem. Enjoy.

I don't know what this would be under. Angst/Romance? Whatever. Lyrics are from "Awake" by Finch, lyrics belong to Finch. The narrator is a girl, hence PG13. Woo. Enjoy, or don't.

I don't even remember what this poem is about, I wrote it Mar-12-2004...I just think that it's nicely done. I really like the last line.

This is about...a friend.

Original title: "As seen through the eyes of someone with less than perfect vision." It didn't fit. I'll let you decide what it's about, I -really- do not want to explain...

Written in relation to the history of a story I am currently trying to write.It's about the collapse of the US government into dictatorship and how the country is in shambles after the dictator has been defeated. Finch is a company that comes about after

Poetic banter between two lovers. Or rather, the beginnings of it. I might make this part of a play, but I don't know yet. I'll leave it up to you to decide who the people are.

I wrote this in Science, today. I like it. I you people enjoy it too.

Kind of confusing, rather, in my opinion, awkwardly written. But it means something, to me at least. Means a lot.

Contemporary/abstract poetry, that's what I would call this. It's actually an odd abractish recording of a series of events that happened in a weird tandent of thoughts that came into existence while listening to Interpol.

I wrote last night while roleplaying...I do know where it came from, though it's hard for me to explain...so I won't. Just read and judge for yourself.

Four chapters a four chapter story that's slightly dragonlance-ish. The character Altus has been changed numerous times since this was written.

I was thinking about Death, and giving it a human face and a few companions. I don't know if I'll continue with this.

This one's kind of sick in my opinion...It's from a story that's circulating in my head, about a girl and a lost temple somewhere in a part of the world (Misu) that hasn't seen much technology.

Wrote this while listening to Nine Inch Nails...this is what 'came out' and I think it's fairly decent. I suppose you can only know if you read it.

It's a bit confusing, I was just trying to get my emotions out when I wrote this...but I think it's pretty interesting, at least.

I was really sad when I wrote this, I guess it's just about regret and giving up. You should read for yourself, I'm not good at this.

Hello. This is a poem I wrote, and I think it's pretty cool. So read, por favor, and tell me what you think...

Another poem! Please read it!

Hello, read my poem please.

Wee! A poem I wrote that could be considered somewhere in the Angst category, no love...okay...read, please...thank you.

More Angst/Love

Just a poem I wrote...I think it's kind of Angst/Romance