choose your weapon...

Movies (4) Photos. (47) Poetry (16) Quotations. (76) Words (15) Writings. (137)

Saturday, July 30, 2011

the desert.

My eyes flicker open, and the images around me fade into reality. Miles of sand stretch from one horizon to the other. It smells hot… and the drift of clouds is already dissipating overhead. A scorched sun rises through, and threatens to devour my world into infinite flames. Rushes of sweat are already trickling down my face… and I don’t know how I got here, but I know it’s not where I’m supposed to be. I have no shoes on, and what once was a dress, now hangs in black threads around me. A vulture circles overhead, smiling.

I try to stand, but my legs shake wildly and give out. So I crawl, slowly and without purpose, in no discernable direction. I will not die without a fight. Hours of dragging my knees has made them raw and with every movement, I grind more sand deep into the scrapes. Bloody handprints follow me everywhere, and I consider giving up, until the vulture calls to me. I look up with my last molecule of energy, and see him sitting carelessly by a murky puddle of water, still smiling, although not so morbid this time. He tucks his head down low, as if to beckon me forward, and I obey, slithering furiously to his side as he takes to the sky once more, and leaves me there alone.

I drink in desperate rushes, choking myself with a greedy thirst. In flickers a memory, wiping cum from my lips with the back of my hand, the same motion I use to wipe the water now. The same satisfying grin, of a potent desire fulfilled. Without warning, and almost as a direct reaction to my reminiscence, the sun burns with a new fury. I splash a few more drops across my face idly, marveling in the tactility of it all, before the torrid demons swirl in. Deep red and scorched, they turn my water to steam. Floating away in waves of heat, I sit, defeated. . I can still feel the steam, the heated weight of the air around me. The rising wisps and whispers of what was once there. I can feel it… but I cannot touch it. Cannot hold it in my hand.

I sink to the ground, and try to cry, but no tears can be made. So I begin tugging pointlessly at the ripped clothing around me, as though the simple repetitive motion could cure my death. It won't. This place will surely hold my last breath... an inescapable tomb of dust.

The vulture is back. Laughing at me as it all goes dark. At least he wont go hungry.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

the book of faces

This is not Facebook. They need to call this Fuckbook. Pictures looking Goodbook, but in person... Yuckbook. All about the Gamebook. It's all the Samebook. Just a hidden Hellbook, Tellbook, forgetting how to Spellbook. Hate behind your Backbook, but still wish you happy Birthdaybook. Bitchbook. Take the Glitchbook, Snitchbook, Fakebook. Rudebook, Feudbook, tell your every Movebook. We don't even need t.v. anymore. Shit is all right here... in the mostly useless Newsbook.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

JJ

There are women
Who seem enlightened by love.
Lifted, surrounded,
Fed and warmed by love.
But the woman I met last night…
In the mirror,
Seems faded,
To the shadows again.

This woman,
Is condemned by love.
Alienated, exiled,
And forgotten by love.
Her indigo eyes gleam fierce
On the edge of the world,
The pain, forever visible.
Through every streak of blue.
As she who lives for love,
Would also die for love.

If the eyes of her past,
Could speak their secrets.
They would tell of a love taken away,
Just as quickly as it was given.
The love that once filled,
Now forces her to starve.
I have met this women in love..
I have seen her eyes.
Felt her heart break,
And wept with her,
As her soul was torn in two.

if you happen to be a billionaire...