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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:29:47 GMT -5
Daydreaming
Sunlight lays upon my soul, wrapping it’s warm glow about me. A gentle breeze opens me up, exposing my sensitivities to the beauty surrounding me.
The faint aroma of surrounding wild flowers delicately strokes my nostrils in an enticing manner as the wash of the sea against the shore brings forth pleasant images. Lulling me off into the land of dreams and fairies.
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:30:31 GMT -5
Dreams
Sweet memories float before me swirling and twisting. Contorting into twisted complexes of color, sound and light. Dancing daisies, fragrant ladies and delicate fingertips. Images flash and flicker, speaking faint whispers of things which were, may have been or never could have happened. Imagination and memory twirl and twine and slowly combine to create entire worlds and lives lived within. Intermeshing ever tighter as to obscure memory with reality, reality with fantasy and fantasy with what used to be.
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:34:03 GMT -5
TIME
The death of life. The decay of beauty. The degradation of all which, at one point, seemed permenant.
Joy ends. Laughter fades. All good things must come to an end.
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:35:20 GMT -5
Poetic Ramblings a Nonsenseical Sort
Playing with the breeze, I unleash a furious gust and get blown away by the response.
Inspired and expired, I lay where I fell. Dreaming of heaven, thinking of Hell.
Scanning the clouds for signs of life, wind whistles a tune like a flute or a fife.
I am distracted by a faint rustle in my hair, but when the gale strikes, I am no longer there.
"Ha ha, you missed me!" I reply with a flair, and then leap up to perch in a precarious dare.
Spinning around, I take in all that I see. I sing as I dance, feeling quite free.
But caught by surprise, over heels I tumble. My partner laughs with an uproarious rumble.
In consternation, I blow back at the sky. "If anyone should be laughing, surely it should be I."
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:41:39 GMT -5
I hate my emotions
Please extinguish the anguish that flows in my veins
I feel I’m running the risk of going insane.
My emotions have conspired against my brain.
But nothing can be done, so why even complain.
It seems that it’s my fault, ‘cause I did this to me.
I had everything I wanted and I felt free.
But the need to destroy it is like a disease.
I lost it all and now have nothing, you see.
If you could have the moon, why want the sun?
Who wouldn’t want both? Now wouldn’t that be fun?
But to have one, and not the other? How come?
I know that, unfortunately, this can not be done.
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:42:40 GMT -5
Precipice
Finding myself alone, surrounded by swirling memories of nothing. I can't help but wonder where it all went. So many lives. So much love. So much pain. So many tears. So many Fears. Love; there was always love. And pain, right there in the corner waiting for me to turn my head. Eventually part of me gave up on love for fear of pain; part of me grew cold and distant...slowly fading from view. Until here I stand, alone. A single naked soul. Devoid of all the comforts of sanity and societies. Naked of both love and hate and all the other useless emotions which no longer affect me. I open my mouth to scream, but no emotion forces no air from my lungs.
Cold in this barren world devoid of life, I shiver. But not from the chill of the icy wind as it blows snow in my face, but from the thought of my former life. Feet crunching barefoot on the ice, I step up to the edge of the precipice. My cold, dead eyes scan the vastness of the void before me. The gale picks up and scours me with tiny shards of ice and hail, ripping me to shreds. Tiny crimson rivulets drain down the side of my leg, dripping ever downward, coming to rest in a growing pool at my feet. I stand at the edge of this glacier, naked in both body and soul. Surrounded by the harshest, most barren landscape my mind could fathom.
I throw back my head and scream into the void at the top of my lungs. The sound fills the canyons and gullies and bounces off the cliffs, reverberating, growing louder with each echo. Until the gross accumulation of sound and lifeless anger is thrust back at me in a roar so powerful as to throw me back into the snow; the wind scouring me with jagged airborne ice crystals. Snow turning scarlet, I stagger weakly back to my feet. Another blast rocks me, yet still I stand. A rumble builds within and slowly rises up, bursting forth in furious laughter. I force my body against the wind, back to the edge of the lip. The gaping maw calling my name. Light slowly drains away, slipping through the cracks between the hills as dusk swallows the surrounding cliffs. Before me lies nothing. Black as pitch. Furious, angry winds rip open the night as they throw themselves into me. My foot presses in to the coarse broken ice, blood welling between my toes.
One step.
Laughter echoes throughout the valley as my body is swallowed in eternal darkness, joining my soul.
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Post by TalixZen on Sept 14, 2005 10:47:42 GMT -5
The Swamp.
I step quietly amongst the reeds and bushes. Listen as the river runs naked through me.
Taste the inside of my sighs as I scrape up into the outer expanses of your mind. Take me not to this place we ran to, as we asked for nothing but the sunshine which shone down upon us from above. From amongst the cries of the screeching doves which plummet into heaps of fetid grass. Compost and refuse exclude the things which have been hidden from us. Look not to the moon as it showers forth gifts of white tears and fire that rain down, searing flesh and scorching mind. The fires rise from the brimstone and embers of the burnt and scorched lands which lie beneath this morass of dead waste and moss and lichen and rotten earth that decays at the sheer thought of touch. The staunch and stagnant water churns like milky oil, as it turns and rolls within itself. Dark sockets glow with the light of a hidden power, if not a hidden life, behind two dark crimson smokey eyes that scan the mist. A soul has slunk within its boundaries, stepped on unfriendly grass, slipped within its grasp. Vines intertwine as branches unwind and the bushes themselves move in time. Swamp and moss coalesce then digress and steps are mistread.
"d**n it! Now my shoe is wet!"
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Post by banzai on Jun 13, 2006 4:58:20 GMT -5
I Like My Stalkers to Call First
home is where the heart is and my heart is spread across my lack of sense of place instead of just tresspassing with the open invitation I take for granted though I am starved for attention even when professors throw themselves at me doctors of what I would like to be are just not good enough for me to share myself and those gangster's willing to teach me all of their deep dark criminality their underground just isn't deep enough and there is not enough color in their darkness and those superheroes with who I play "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" but only after they take off their masks I don't know why these people are attracted to my tears and authenticity while I feel so artificial in the face of thier art I am just aspartame its not sugar not sweet at all I am savory and my saltiness is thirstquenching I am so dehydrated from the weeping and the partying i mean celebrating I mean liberating i mean validating whatever it is my wits and my dollar afford me which is whatever my heart Desires which is where my home is where I just can't live this time around so I will sit this round out its time to sacrifice that part of my heart and get my own underground superhero doctorate on.
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Post by anti_thetic on Oct 2, 2006 21:30:03 GMT -5
Listening to the sweet sound of the piano, she types on aimlessly. Typing lyrics to a sad song,lyrics no-one will ever see. The tune is memorized, the chords all written down, She failed once again to write the chord that matched her frown.
A wonderful sound, A haunting sound.
Never talking, never leaving her little space, Never showing what's behind her blank face. They say she's creative, unique, Yet she's an antisocial, reclusive freak.
There's a guitar in the corner, it's slowly gathering dust. There's a girl sat on the bed, soon she'll probably rust. No expression on her face, but one etched into her heart. Maybe she'll play a song, about how her life fell apart.
A wonderful sound, A haunting sound.
Never talking, never leaving her little space, Never showing what's behind her blank face. They say she's creative, unique, Yet she's an antisocial, reclusive freak.
The piano is still playing, inside her empty mind. She carries on searching, for the things she'll never find. The guitar's no longer rusty, in fact it's strangely clean. She's finished writing the song, the one no-one has ever seen.
A wonderful sound, A haunting sound. She may be creative, she may be unique, Yet inside; she's still an antisocial reclusive freak.
by sum1 else
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