

Pink Angels - Prologue“Want to play the Secret Game?” Mister’s hands are already moving, toying with the hem of Shannalee Pollard’s shorts.Pink Angels - Prologue
Shannalee tries to shake her head, but it feels heavy, fuzzy. When she tries to lift it, it only lolls to the side. Her tongue, too, feels foreign in her mouth, lodged and swollen, and she can’t seem to speak.
Mister hooks his hands under Shannalee’s armpits and lifts her off the ground. She kicks her legs, twice their normal weight, but succeeds only in knocking over the syrupy Coke that Mister gave her. She watches the spreading stain of the spilled cola soak into the dirt, darkening the earth


UpI'm a trashcan poet with a rhythm, a flow that grabs onto my tongue and won't let go / it / stems from this feeling / this burning desire to crack the ceiling / 'cause I seen a flower on my way / to school today / and it pushed its way through a crack in the street / through / two thousand pounds of poured concrete / to breathe its first breath / and it gets no medals for spreading its petals but it makes itself heard because silence / is / death / and that's gonna be me, y'all / pushing up up up because I've seen / how up becomes the only option / when oppression becomes routine / and the pressure can either keep you down in a seed in the grUp


CutI sat down on the edge of the white porcelain toilet and looked between the razor grasped between my fingers and the wrist of my left hand. The veins were lined in black ink, a road map to my tangled life, a guide to what to cut out. I had never been able to remember that stupid pneumonic device.Cut
It was about to end, all of it. The despair, the pain, the emptiness. All to be replaced by, what? I don’t know, something better then what it was. It had to be, even non-existence would be favorable, the wrath of an angry god softer then the reality that I currently resided.
I took a deep breath and held the razor against
Lupercalia
--
--
Keep up good work!
--
~Laika-Lorien~
Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you critisize them, you're a mile away, and you have their shoes!
--
--
Whore it up in the forums! Take the advertisement to the wall!
I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather. Not screaming in terror like his passengers.
--
Whore it up in the forums! Take the advertisement to the wall!
I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather. Not screaming in terror like his passengers.
--
Art is what you make of it
--
Previous Page12Next Page