[x]

The climbHe tied his boat among the rocks, and soon began to climb. Slowly, every so slowly, he went foot by foot, climbing away from shore and onto what should be called land, but really was nothing more than rocks.

When he tried to look above there was no grass of green. More and more rocks awaited our man, and still he climbed. The sun beat down, and clouds covered the top so our poor man could not see his destination, but still he climbed.

'It appears as though God has taken a day off today,' he thought to himself. And still he climbed up and up, even though the rocks were always coming.

When the stones cut into his palms, and the toes of his s

Paper ButterfliesA cut, a tear, a fold,
slice of color and a cut or two,
and another paper butterfly is born.

IV drips in the hand
keeping everything in place
while the cuts and tears and folds
keeps going on.

One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.

That's the number
she was told to make.

One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.
Until she can get a wish.
A nice nurse had told her so,
and shown her how to make them
but she had only made thirty out of the
one thousand, six hundred and sixty six
paper butterflies.

It seemed like such an impossible number
that one thousand six hundred and sixty six
but our patient needed that wish
just li

This is a poemThis is a poem.
It's full of lines,
and goes with a meter,
rhyming of words of course
and contains more than you think.

So much thought
is going into this poem
to many words
and so many emotions
that it's almost hard
for the poet
to capture it in a few words.

This poem has a deep meaning
that you will feel is just out of your grip
and it shall be misheard and misread in its time.

For now though,
this is just a poem
that is full of rhythm
and words too big to pronounce.

This is a poem,
full of words
and rhyme
and meter
and emotions
and love
and hope
and fear.

This poem is just words on a paper
that are meant to

Through a gap in the fenceThrough a gap in the fence
they saw each other.

Drawings on the walls
for messages of love.

Images don't matter anymore
as words are the only thing
that can travel
through that gap in the fence.

Whispers of love
and no one else cares.

Still they have not seen each other
through the small gap in the fence,

But of course
all good things must end.

The gap was closed
and their love was lost.

As time erases
their love was lost
and the lovers who met
through a gap in the fence
never got to whisper
their sweet nothings to each other
through a gap in the fence again.

The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call.

Bright pink lips,
booty shorts,
a bikini top.

She gestures wildly,
beckoning every person
to have a dance with her.

Another drink goes down
and I'm pulled into her dance
where hips thrust wildly
and hands roam everywhere.

Yet when lips meet,
it's hollow and broken
sloppy and careless
no spark or real feelings.

I don't walk away
or even pull apart.
Our limbs mesh together more
and even though it's full of sweat
and nothing more than heat
I cannot bring myself to turn away.

This Siren has captured me,
and for the rest of the night
I'm hers.

DystopiaDirty water,
corrupted laughter,
cracked dreams,
and broken seams.

Cries in the night
as life becomes a fight
there's just no more light.

Men are trying,
women are running
children are crying
people are dying.

Let's go, he whispered.
I-It's dangerous, she stuttered.
But we can't just stay, they uttered.

Chaos roams the streets
and blood's on the ground like treats.

Dystopia never ends
as society bends.
Life shall be dystopia
and never a utopia.

The Wishing TreeTraveling along a concrete road
until the pavement turned to grass
and the grass turned to dirt.

Just when the land turned barren and bland
an abandoned park stood rusty and proud.

Little Jessica walked along that dirt path
not minding the hot sun
or how her backpack got heavier with every step.

When she finally reached
that abandoned park
Little Jessica played in the slide
and swung on the swings
that creaked with every rock.

She bored soon and left
that barren park
going to the one sign of life
besides herself.

A sorrowful tree, with no leaves left
stood near that abandoned park.
Little Jessica, feet scuffing the dirt
w

MagicA long time ago, when the world was new,
and longer than anyone can remember
magic existed in the world.

It healed the sick
and didn't cause anything bad.
Magic was for good
and never harmed the people.

Then one day
a sorcerer broken by pain
and an outcast of society
used his magic
to hurt and cause pain.

He killed with his magic,
and made people suffer
in ways that should never be allowed.

The evil sorcerer went across the land
never sparing a soul and making
curses that could never be broken.

Five of the best magicians were shocked
and banded together
to stop his evil reign over the people.

Nothing the good magicians

The Caged Birds SongFor the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The caged bird sings
to hear his own songs.

For in all the twitters and tweets,
and in the cries and screams,

the caged bird sings
to hear the song of freedom
that it shall never know.

The caged bird has no use for words
or shouts of anger and sobs of terror.

The caged bird only needs its song.

Through bars and glass
the caged bird sings its song

and the caged bird and I,
we sing together,
because we are not free
in mind and soul
but together we are free
in song.

The house on the hillUp on a hill there lived a house,
in that house lived an old man.

He had lived his long life
and had lived in that house his entire life.

He didn't have family
and stayed on the porch every day.

When the children would come
he would give out candy apples and sweets.

The children loved the nice old man
who lived on the hill.

Then the man on the hill
passed away and went to a better place.

The once great house,
faded from thoughts
as the town still grew below it.

Once shiny windows,
and flawless paint,
faded and became aged.

The garden once taken care of,
with wrinkled old hands,
became overcome with weeds.

The children

Lovely AnneI once met a girl named Anne
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.

While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.

Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.

Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.

Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.

The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day

Bi-PolaroidWill you take a Polaroid picture
And shake it in your hand
As you wait for it to develop
Please try to understand

That my smile might as well be painted
My tears photoshopped out
I'll add a caption on the reverse
So there will be no doubt

That I swing low like a pendulum
In a grandfather clock
That I fly high as a soaring kite
With each tick and each tock

Will you take a Polaroid picture
And hold me in your hands
As you wait for me to develop
Please try to understand

There'll be days when I'm as cold as ice
I'll thaw myself for you
And those things I said with aggression
I will try to undo

You should take me in to a dark r

Grow UpWhen I was young,
I knew a girl.
She was so warm and bright,
so I asked her that question
that all children must answer.

'What do you want to be
when you grow up?'

Her eyes lit up with joy
and she jumped with excitement.

'A dancer!
No, an astronaut!
Wait, President!
A scientist!
I'll be famous
and in movies!
My name
will be everywhere!'

She listed so many more
until she finally just smiled
and looked at me with eyes filled
with child-like wonder.

'I could be anything I wanted.'

Years and years later,
I saw the same girl again
but her eyes no longer
lit up with wonder.

I asked her,
'What did you end up being?'

She

Her Cold LipsHer Cold Lips:

She watches me, as I bid my friends goodbye
Her cold hands creep along my shoulders
they tell me that she is there
and that she will never let me go...

We're in my room now, away from the outside
I know that she doesn't like the sun
Often, she prefers to observe me from the shadows
but I think she doesn't like the others coming close...

We're beneath the covers now, panting softly
her cold body pressed against mine
Her lips are completely devoid of warmth
and yet they taste so rousingly sweet

A haunting, a haunter and the haunted
Two of us now entwined beneath the ruffled sheets
We cross a barrier that should not

The Envious MoonThe moon's envious glow,
is nothing more, than the suns bright rays
shinning back from a gray face.

The loneliest person in the world,
she can only reflect what others disperse
and never show her own light.

Sometimes though, she gets her desires
to change the light she reflects
and becomes orange or red.

It never lasts though.

She finds solace in her reflection
to know that she is actually there,
and to feed what little pride she has.

And the moon sits alone
never to have company.
Only her mournful shriek her only sound.

She can never be the one
who provides light and comfort.

The most she can do
is give off a little refle

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Does Death Hurt?Does death hurt?

When the knife digs into flesh
do you fall into your knees in pain
or simply in shock of motion?

When you slip away in the dark of sleep
does the dream still remain
as you travel to worlds unknown?

When the drugs hit your body
does your heart stop suddenly
or can you feel the imminent end?

When the noose slips tight
does your head feel heavy
and your limbs feel numb?

When the water rushes in
to the castle only of air
can you feel your breath cut off?

When the dirt piles over
and the air runs out
can you feel the choking?

So riddle me this,
oh master of death,
does it hurt to die?

Our Yellow RoomWe used to talk of everything that needed to be said
when we sat under the canopy of gold rays
gorgeous declarations of adventures to be were spilt.

We were going to get married under gold lilies
and speak of vows that we wrote for each other
while friends and family loved us together.

But when I wake in the morning because I can’t sleep anymore
the bed is cold underneath me while the lights are off
my fingers reach for a being that isn’t there with me.

The bed sheets are amber like the necklace you got me
the bedroom painted in a fit of creativity that was never finished
the wonderful color usually bouncing but now it is dusty

MakeupThe sinks water dribbles out
and forms a pool where the drain clogged
bubbles spill over the edge soaking the counter.

Scrubbing away the dirt of the day
trying to wipe away the memories of past
yet the makeup won’t come off the skin.

Black rivets dripping down in streams
mascara and eyeliner blurring dark circles
making raccoon circles around the eyes.

Rubbing into skin until vision blurs
the mirror reflects what is to be seen
a lonely girl with makeup that won’t come off.

Red lipstick is smeared on chin
and harsh soap turned pink and grey
the skin is gone turned brittle and dry.

Water balls and doesn’t form
nothing m

Monster in the BasementThe being under the basement cries at night
calling out for one simple friend that it cannot have
family above ignores what it cannot see
except the little boy who hears the screams in dark hours.

Solitary hours after dusk, before dawn
child of man travels down to see the beast that wept
bringing offerings of peace, words of comfort
friendship built on mutual loneliness was molded.

Talks late at night, stars overhead burning light
exciting tales of adventures to be had
but thoughts were simply just thoughts, never to happen together
and tales in the dark were simply that, tales.

Yet the child didn’t know the importance of secrets
fa

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Victim of a John Doe

by =Oilux, Aug 18, 2012, 4:17:35 PM
Literature / Poetry / Horror / Free Verse

Do you want to hear the story
of how I died?
I promise it won't be boring
so if you would
just take a seat, have a drink
and listen.

Past memories reach,
I met the most amazing man
who spun words of silver and gold
with a tongue more fine than silk.

He told me he could do no wrong
and I, young and foolish, believed him.

And when we went home,
his eyes shining with new excitement,
things were perfect.

Then it shattered.

Nothing more intense
than feeling my own blood
trickle down my body.

Cruciation
stares traveling down
blood spattered knife
a gaping wound

cries of shock
gleaming white smile
solid drops of blood
and fading light.

I knew him for one night
he disappeared the next.

To this day I am simply known
as the victim of a John Doe.

Victim of a John Doeby =Oilux

Literature / Poetry / Horror / Free Verse

100 Theme Challenge #49: Insanity.

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Critique by ~bloo180 Aug 19, 2012, 11:53:50 AM

The simplicity makes the entirety of this heart breaking, yet mysterious. The introduction could use a little more "grab" to draw readers in or spring curiosity. But I do have to say, the very first line did appeal to me and made me want to read more. It may not pull every reader in like it did for me, but keep in mind that you want to try to lure in all kinds of readers. Otherwise, word choice and imagery used is astounding for how short this tale is. It leaves you wondering who this poor slaughtered lover was. I'd like to read more. Fantastically written.

What do you think?

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~DomoSushiLuver Aug 22, 2012

wow that's really good and scary please tell that's not a true story because is horrible and sad

~Kalikawolflover Aug 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

The wording on it is great and to the point. It really captures the emotions of such an event, and it reminds the reader to beware of strangers. At the same time the outcome is tragic and makes the reader feel bad for the victim. Very nice work.

=Oilux Aug 20, 2012 Student Writer

Thank you so much.

~Kalikawolflover Aug 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're very welcome

~CheapGrotesqueries Aug 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, wow. Just the imagery I got from this was pretty intense. Going home with a stranger to be murdered is such a scary thing because it can seem so sudden and out of the blue, and you've captured this so well with a victim who was none-the-wiser and a killer who seems like he left no trace to connect him to the crime whatsoever. It makes the reader feel scared and sad.

Awesome poem overall c: This is definitely going into my favorites!