You don't think I see you that little look that you give me out of the corner of your eye as you walk through the front door after a long hard day.... I catch that glance of yours, looking over my dark blue fabric with a possessive animalistic need. You try so hard to hide that urgent longing in your tone as you slowly inch toward my thick soft arms, making me hold back a chuckle when you're interrupted to help out in the kitchen. Giving one lustful last look before turning the corner out of the living room, I simply wait patiently for your return. I know you'll be back. You always come back, unable to help yourself to my sensa
Oh how slyly inviting I look right outside your door. My face says "Welcome," inviting every poor unknowing unfortunate who passes. Little do they know that I steal a precious unsanitary treasure from them in every entrance. Every pass. Sucking the dirt from their naïve soles without them seeming to ever notice a thing. They believe I am simply a mat they must walk over to enter the house, though have no idea that my deviant plan is at work, gathering their grime and dust with silent glee. So delicious they taste, dripping past the rough bristles of my flesh as they leave from their carrier's feet. I crave every speckle, every fleck, and
Dear Heart,
I understand that you and I have had our differences in the past. I know that I have let you be cut, torn, broken. I have put you out on a silver platter and watched the ravaging predators feed off the love you so effortlessly gave. There were times where I let myself believe the walls were high and mighty, keeping you safe from harm only to find that an infection had wormed its way in and spread its diseased features across your kindhearted face. Over time, your pain has taught me to hold you closely, protectively. To fear any who found their way past the numerous defenses, to approach them with extreme caution as I would a rose
Oh.
Hello my darling.
Have we met before?
Yes, hello my shining.
You have once given me the tour.
Oh
Wonderous.
Truly wonderous,
With you in my grasp.
Even now I feel your cool caress.
Even now you slice through the mask.
Oh
Watch it flow.
Red ribbons on the floor.
And ugliness is ebbing
As the ribbons gather more and more.
Oh
Sweet shining
Glinting so beautifully in the dimming light.
How ever shall I repay you?
Hurry in the gathering night
How cool its fingers are
Sliding along my spine.
I can hear its seductive whisper,
"You will be mine."
The shining slips from my touch
As my soul slips from its housing.
Oh
Wha
They smile and laugh.
And I,
In my box,
Can only relay messages through a frame
Similar to the smiles
Of high school yearbook pictures.
Is there ever any truth?
Or is all truth?
Live, Laugh Love.
Like a jump rope game,
Except I keep tripping.
Live, Laugh, Stumble.
Live, Laugh, Fall . . .
And down I go,
My face becoming quickly intimate
With the concrete that is my reality.
Although eventually,
I become immune to the pain.
The blood?
Merely something I can clean up later.
But it becomes infected,
And slowly,
Ever so slowly,
It is creeping up my body.
A growing vine.
A Fungus.
Like a living, breathing organism.
Usua
I see you at the counter
Standing there.
Same bag
Same shoulders.
Even same kind of shoes.
I cant believe it is you.
When did you get back?
How long have you been here?
Why didnt you tell me?
My eyes are widened with excitement,
My lips already forming a smile
I cant believe it is you.
You begin to walk away.
The same stride,
I want to cry out
Tell you to come back.
But shock holds my tongue
I cant believe it is you.
My fingers reach
Barely brushing your shoulders
And it is then
That I notice something unusual,
Something . . . different.
I cant believe it isnt you.
He turns around
C
In this generation today, it seems that we have managed to produce an interesting mixture of our past with our present. Our world has produced a open minded, disrespectful, and dependent group of young adults. There are of course certain sides to these aspects.
Such as the fact that they are an extremely independent and outspoken with their own ideas and life choices. They are not afraid in the least to be so completely honest about their opinion on something that it can be considered harsh and normally will come across that way.
At the same time though, this generation is completely dependent on technology. When a highschool sophmore has