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The AwakeningPure white walls drift into my vision--wither I am asleep or awake, it doesn't matter...I see it all day. Perhaps that means it'll actually happen...I don't know. The story is always the same, but still it continues on, every day, every time. Am I supposed to stop it, or...what? Why am I getting this? Am I alone with this nightmare or are others having it? My questions, too, fade away with the day as this world I live in is traded for the one that has yet to happen.
The further I walk, the clearer things get, until I can see more than just white walls. Blue lines traverse the walls all the way to the end of the hall and around the corner. Faus marble tiles paint the floor, faded, worn, and grimy with time. Shadows pass by me--humans, I assume by the vague figures I can see. A soft, warm summer breeze brushes against my skin, and I notice a window at the end of the hallway that is slightly ajar. Outside, it's bright and pleasant, with luscious green hills and thick woods--a co
Explosive Knowledge“I know a lot more than you think, officers; A LOT more…” Agent Taylor muttered from behind her hands as she rubbed her face.
“Really? Why don’t you explain, Ms. Taylor.” FBI Detective James Morrison said icily as he glared at her.
A smirk spread across her face, as she answered “I’m not stupid officers. And, as much as I'd like to see you motherfuckers go down...I’m not going to risk your lives or your families' lives for a secret like this.”
“What makes you think it would do such a thing?” Detective Morrison questioned.
“I…know things.” Her voice remained steady, monotone, but she was clearly worried about something: her hands seemed to twitch nervously and she kept rotating her fists under the table.
“Yeah, sure, Ms. Taylor.” He said haughtily. “I think that this was all a cry for attention.” He walked across the room, picked up a briefcase, set it on the table, opened
Mystic's MirrorDeep in the woodlands
Magic stirs tonight
Where faeries dance
And spirits are set ablaze
On the eve of the night
When the Druids come to meet
At the Gates of Avalon
The circle shall reunite as one.
From the stronghold of Camelot
To the green hills of Dunmoore
Stretched the vast land
Of Britain's Once and Future King.
That when the sword of the Dragon's Breath
Is pulled from Merlin's Stone
The secrets of a race long forgotten
Will the Lady of the Lake sing once more.
A world forgotten with time and age
Where the stones aligned shone the way
And the mystic's runes shivered with such power
That the people followed every word of a young Mage.
Your NightmareWhite walls, white lights, and a white floor,
Cool temps to keep the body chilled
White blankets and silver beds
Beeping monitors and sighing hearts
Rain-splattered dark windows dotting the end
Of barren blank empty halls
Only a stripe of blue along the middle
To contrast against the pallor.
My mind tumbles where my feet can’t go
I am a ghost and nothing more
Walking in your nightmare
To see what haunts you tonight.
Soft tears slip down your cheeks
Your long black fingers wrapped around her thin white hand
Gentle and careful to not disturb the needle
That’s keeping her alive.
Blinking back the sadness, the fear
You watch her face for any signs of movement, of feeling
But see only the edge of death
On her pale pink lips.
Your eyes never leave her face as you say
“What the hell do you want?”
And for a moment I think your talking to me
As if you can actually see me.
“What happened is…unfortunate,
But we need you to snap out of it.”
You Begin To Wonder If It's TrueWhen every day, at home, you hear how fat you are...
from your own dad.
And even though you know you're not "fat,"
You still look at yourself in the mirror every day
And see everything that's wrong
And nothing that's right.
Then you put on your smiling mask,
Step into the shadows
And say hello
To the world that doesn't know
And doesn't care.
CONFIDENTIAL:::US GOVERNMENT: DesertFalcon
Name: Derek “Desert Falcon” James
Hair: crew-cut black
Build: Tall, muscular,
Height: 6ft. 8in.
Calm in Danger: Yes No
Psychiatric/Mental Disorders: None
Physical Limitations: Unknown/Unlisted
Job 1: DCFD
Job 2: SCO Scarecrow, Delta-Alpha Sigma-6
Rank: Medic, Runner 5-6
Job 3: M.A.G
Rank: Rogue: Widowmaker Team
Location of Home(s): Washington, DC; NYC; Miami
Spouse’s Job(s): -------
Pets: 1 Wolf (Black)
My family ceased to exist long before I joined the SCO; I have no wife or kids, and prefer the company of my team. I dual-work for SCO and MAG, as an undercover operative.
the science of silence.your arms form a barrier, blocking out all sound,
there is nothing but you.
you are the only thing that
can make a buzzing fan
sound like a butterfly;
a creaking house
like a lullaby.
moaning wind and soft footsteps,
tickings of clocks, downstairs.
but you made it feel like a soft cocoon;
a weightless wall of something golden:
"silence is good in its absolution,"
The stormCartilage-smooth azure extends
above bent heads.
Furrows s t r e t c h b e y o
the edge n
My WinterCardinals will
from the branches like
and the sky will turn to smoke.
The ground crunches under your feet and its
Almost as if you could
across the ice.
Brandished behind screens of glass
are fists of ivory
They are covered in scratches and
from the dark like magnolia blossoms.
napoleon at sevenan old guitarist sitting
on a watercolor hill,
plucking on six strings absent.
two halves of breasts running near
under van gogh's starry night,
under black-white guernica.
everything in all jigsaws,
everything in trepid cubes.
a girl before a mirror
with violin and guitar,
sitting with three musicians
and a woman with her book,
stippling all realities
of intangible maternity.
hours yielding from dalí's clock,
minutes sub-the alchemist
like rain, like raining, like rained—
portraits wilt with abstract smiles.
clear sfumato, oh still life,
napoleon at seven.
The Vampire and His Servant I The Vampire and his Servant
As I fall on the withered ground,
I stare up at the darkening sky,
Tears pouring from my pleading eyes.
I want to be free from this hell
Light footsteps sound, stepping toward me.
I turn my head, slowly, the fear sending chills down my spine
Making my heart cold.
He walks towards me, his graceful legs carrying him closer.
His long black hair whips against his pale face
As a sudden wind makes contact with his slender body
As he reaches me, he kneels down in front of my crumbled body.
I flinch visibly and turn my head a
winter footnoteswinter footnotes
your elbows were anchors
in a softly-lit parking lot,
where you sang to glass and paper:
and your visions are quiet hills
your visions are shy sounds
your visions are sheep covered in frost.
like an old shoe-
that dry rasp
that leaves me covered in skin flakes,
brushed onto the wall .
I am the raised bumps in spackle-
ripped off with the sound of a poor phonograph:
in my chain link home,
a residual ghost.
losing everything i never hadit's an early morning as the sun is rising, stepping into my mother's room and moving towards her bed, careful not to disturb the dark shadows on the walls, or the lulling silence that's filling the steps between us, i ask her when she wearily opens her eyes, "why was i born?"
her face held no expression, and she didn't reply
she didn't reply
i might as well not have gotten out of bed today.
i might as well be -
and sometimes as i'm sitting in the passenger seat, i lose track of where i'm headed. i lose track of the fact that i'm moving, i'm moving somewhere slowly across a map. i'm moving with the world, and i'm just one person out of so many. so fucking many. i watch the rode beneath the tires blur passed us. i watch the clouds drift along with us, the trees look like ghosts. i feel the time move along with us, as the sun falls to the floor and gives up letting the stars take it's place. the moon has painted my skin white, just as i sputter out my words and let them fade
brushing the willow,
swallow many branches, while
brushing the willow
they hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat.
Scratch the bark,
they hear the
brushing the willow,
They hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat;
scratch the bark
they hear the
brushing the willow
satan threw me a slumber partyim tired
of you, and
im tired of
im tired of OCD,
im tired of poetry,
im tired of counting
and miscounting sheep,
im tired of losing my mind
to cosmetic con artists who make
more money than banks,
who make more sense
than a vending machine;
who make their mind up,
not minding their dirty,
oh, how i envy those poisoned Disney Princesses
im tired of blitzkrieg alarm clocks that snooze louder than me,
im tired of vinyl pinups (un)dressing up my hypnophobic lids
im tired of the poltergeist who keeps fucking up cushion clouds
im tired of my revolving eyelash nightmares opening too soon;
and im most certainly tired of the technicolor monsters
living six feet under my bed
the ones that scream me caffeinated lullabies,
beneath bedlam bedbugs, to scare me awake,
so i can daydream of dormancy
the next morning.
the crows have risen,
and the roosters snore
until i wake u
True Pride Colors
Red for the shed blood,
White for the freedom we share,
Blue the color of our uniforms in peace and war.
Proud we will always be,
Ashamed we will never be;
Fire in our souls,
Wings on our backs
Fierce power in our eyes,
Yet humbleness in our hearts.
And yellow to remember.
The are the true colors of pride.
The American proud.
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More