...And Yet So FarIt began like a love story.Two beautiful peoplesmiling at each otherin a park with flowers blossomedon a Spring day.But this isn't a love story.Two people, who are beautiful at the same time,smiling because that's what people doin a park where people tend to spend afternoonslike this one, a nice Spring day.
And There We WereBrothers,againstwhat they cannotsee.Nineteen,and green.Boys, not men.Foreign, unknown.Noises.Violence.Scarring,just kids.
Found Perfection, Kept SearchingDustrom University was one of the more selective universities in the country, possibly the world. They had decently high standards for their GPA and SAT/ACT requirements, as well as asking for, but not requiring, a letter of recommendation from a teacher or employer. The university’s website makes the claim that many students hadn’t met the academic requirements, but were accepted by their character; this was likely just to get more students to apply. Officially, the university accepted 25 to 75 of applicants, the number varying and changing each year depending on how many applications they get.This was the only place Cody wanted to go to college. It was local, a little over an hour north from his home in Key Largo, Florida (though Cody’s speeding “problem” has seen that time nearly cut in half). It had a modest academic prowess that he found very appealing; not quite up to par with the Ivy League, but not that far behind either. The campus had an old uni
12 DaysIn 12 days, you're going to kill me.In 12 days, you're going to break my knee.In 12 days, I will hate you.In 12 days, I will not be able to stand and fight.In 12 days, hearts will break.In 12 days, dreams will be shattered.In 13 days, I will not have woken up.In 13 days, I will sleep in the morgue.In 13 days, you will get a call.In 13 days, you will collapse in shock.In 13 days, news will be broken.In 13 days, a team will unite.In 20 days, you will be burdened.In 20 days, I will be cremated.In 20 days, you will face consequences.In 20 days, I will be eulogized.In 20 days, success will never matter again.In 20 days, we will be free.
AMB3RAMB3R is an avatar living in the virtual world Serenity. She is a virtual being. Therefore, she does not actually exist.AMB3R is employed as an escort in Serenity. She sells her virtual body for the virtual money she uses to pay the rent on her virtual apartment, buy her virtual clothes, and do virtual activities. AMB3R is one of few Serenity residents to actually have employment. Most acquire their virtual money through a currency exchange; there are a few out there who are content with Serenity’s free content to not want money. And since residents of Serenity did not need to eat, sleep, bathe, etc. AMB3R has little use for having an apartment. But she did find some pride in having a place to call her home, and that was worth the bi-weekly rent.The world of Serenity was comprised of hundreds of places called sites. The creators of Serenity owned eight, known as “default sites” since newcomer residents first arrive in
Meeting Gary 'Roach' SandersonFor a while, Roach was just a story to me. Ghost raved about him. Seeing him run the training course made me feel so insignificant; all the self-confidence I had was long gone before he finished. The one thing that was truly jaw-dropping was his quickness. If this he was in a Wild West duel, his opponent wouldn’t even see Roach draw his gun he moved that fast.I remember meeting him for the first time before the 141’s mission in Rio de Janeiro. Captain MacTavish was going through some extra debriefing. Ironing out the edges of the plan, little nit-picky details of how he wants things to be done. Once that was finished, Roach walked by me on the way out the room.“An Aussie?” he mumbled, his lips barely moving.“Be nice, Roach,” Captain MacTavish chuckled.I guess Roach’s way of being nice was not saying a word to me ever again.“Don’t mind him, Dragon,” Captain MacTavish said to me after Roach left the room. “Roach doesn
Black voidsA black void escapes my lips.As the infection of pain takes over.I’m screaming to an empty room.In it lays all my fears.My eyes are filled with parasites.Seeing nothing but black.Which leaks it’s way into my heart.Trembling fingers, and sweaty palms.Bugs clinging to my hair.Nesting in my skin.I have been contaminated.By the sins of others.Nobody can harm me now.I have been contaminatedBy the whispers of the heartless.Reaching forth for some light.It only seems to burn my skin.My right eye has been removed.And left with a hole.Head spinning round’ and round.Sitting in this dirty contaminated room.A perfect fit for me.
Light upon her skin.I want to beIn love with someoneAnd watch the lightDance on the tips of her skin.Like the sea,I'll be the ebb,And she'll be the flowMoving together in perfect rhythm .I want that feelingOf confusing, alternating, maddeningLove to fill me from withinAnd to know how it feels,To hear the words –
Mimicrymildewed [ghosts]haunt the c.r.a.c.k.s in the w do not a mistake l their voices l for s
A Wasted OpportunityThese six words could've contained infinities.
SeashineSacred skinwhere heavens and oceancollide,an imprint on salted lungsan echoof aching, ofa moonlit yearning upon therolling tide.
Still-life.The best of my paintings:the hum ofa sad piano,a morning cigarette,and a graveside angel;all I ever wanted.
knock knock.there is a sound like something has died.you make this sound, like someone has died.when you see me, you make this sound, like someone has died,and i have to look down at myself and check i'm not dead,that it wasn't me who died, and you aren't making that noisebecause you came here expecting a warm welcome,and instead you got a corpse.but no, i'm breathing, i can see my chest movingup and down with the rhythm of it.i'm sure if i stopped, it would burn.but you still made that sound, and i'm not dead,so it must be someone else. i'm sorry for your loss.who was it that you lost? should i be making a similar noise?should i be comforting you? oh god,i've never known how to comfort you...and you're still looking at me like that,like i died, and no one told me.but i'm not dead. we just established that.is there something on my face?is there somewhere i should be, something i should be doing?why won't you say something?you came in here, made that noise,like someone
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.Half in love in this half-life half-light;pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreamingof the gods. Wanderer, today I died anddied again, and whispered prayersto clasped hands… until the nestleddroplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;and when moonrise came, I sang again.
Whispers of another lifeYour dress is a ball gown,an upside-down rose petal;those inverted flowersmake half of my garden:I'll make you a bouquetof dark red, and lavender;a dress for warm evenings,our hot nights.Eyes like watered wine,refined, and intoxicating;decanted, measured,inviting and poisonous:You've corrupted me, dear,but slowly, carefully;hazel depths, inviting,deep amber alcohol.A thousand grains of sand,gritty and gravelly, imperfect;nothing feels farther fromyour skin touching mine:Velvet and silk and corduroy,these things of delicacy;every inch of you, satin smooth,elegant suede and swan feathers.Lazy days, shaded porches,iced tea and lemonade;respite that comes from your lips,conversations and intimations:Down below your surface,your flowers, toxins, and chiffon;whispers of another life,lived apart from me.
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BoxCan't smell the roses;they do not grow well indoors.I'm going insane.