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Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bags
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heaven
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because my
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
Napo 6- IreneShe left you a letter
outwitting at last the greatest.
A photograph, filched;
a King’s humiliation.
In your eyes she
holds the highest.
Napo 4- Warrior with painted faceThere’s a warrior with a painted face
and streaks of black across his chest; he stands
wild with pride. His merciless eyes ignited by the
echoes of fallen enemies. He slew
two hundred men and just scars mark their defence.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
who prays to gods mightier than he; he kneels
arms open to implore. He calls upon his army
to pray with him; equals once more. He watches
embers burn before retiring to his tent.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
and inside his heart rests a son and daughter
sleeping. There is a reason he is
Napo 3- Leaving the Train Station
Leaving the train station
alone I watch strangers head home.
The waves for yellow cabs and
stench of fresh-lit cigarettes, I let
the cold cloud white breath.
Even at midnight, a long-coated businessman
hurries past with laptop bag bulging and blackberry to ear. Behind me,
a clip-clack of heels and giggles-
their night hasn’t ended.
Across the road, three youths in hooded
tops kick a can whilst eating chips only stopping
as clip-clacks pass them and swoon
immaturity. Swear words exchange.
In the ice-wind rubbish travels as if taking
a commute, tapa-tapping the concrete.
Exhausted I can only wait with
white breath etching blue hands desperate to be
warmed. Eyes fight; tired and
Beneath Her Beautiful"I'm a tailor," he told her, when they first met. "A dressmaker, too." He knew it wouldn't catch her attention the way a doctor or a CEO might, but his passion was what got them all interested in the end. When she asked about his work, he played up the sensory aspect - the sight of a newly created outfit; the fresh scent of his fabrics and the sheer artistry involved. He talked, too, about the pleasure he found in spotting the imperfections beneath the outer beauty.
By the time he got to his customary pick-up line, the one he'd stolen from a popular song, she was already pretty taken in. He stole her breath when he asked her to show him the imperfections she hid.
He hummed as he manipulated his instruments, scissors making small cuts here and there. The tapestry he was creating would, he knew, be a masterpiece. Like a surgeon, he made precise snips that allowed for a perfect edge.
Everything was just right, and as he pulled her skin away from the muscles below, he sang happily to h
The Amulet"The date is April 10th, 2014. I am here with Tyler Deadlox, Jason Truth, Jerome Acceti, Mitch Huges, Quintin Kipz, and Ian Sundee. They are all room mates who have faced some...supernatural experiences. Would one of you care to tell us what happened?"
A teen with long brown hair and headphones shuffled in his seat and began. "Well...it started when we bought a new home. The old one was too small to hold a group of six. This one was large, had amazing usage of space, and didn't cost nearly as much as the others we looked at. It seemed...well perfect."
"Jerome!! Hand me the other box!" Ty called after he finished placing a lamp on his desk.
"That's the last one for your room dood!" Jerome called back as he walked by his door.
Ty laughed and dusted himself off. He looked at his new room and sighed. It was a new start for all of them. Him especially. Away from his hometown and family for the first time. It was hard, but it had to happen sometime. Ty snapped out of his tho
She Died Happy Hands are wrapped tight around my neck. A cold blade lightly travels along my veins as if to tell me that the path to my future is slowly narrowing. My blood pumps rapidly despite my careful breathing. I savior the idea that my blood can feel free, at least giving it the illusion that it's running away. But again, my thoughts and the red liquid of my body are brought to a shocking stop as pressure begins against the pulse of my neck.
I felt the edges of my lips slide up towards the crinkles of my eyes as blitz of sharp pain shot through my body. Even if those hands were away from my neck, I'd still feel breathless. Within seconds, my mind was lost - dreaming of the unscarring cuts that will be leftover on my soon-to-be lifeless body. The reaction if in some future my grave were to be dug up, and the look that would become me were to be found. How would the mortician handle my mangled body? Would he or she leave it be, and keep the smile I shall soon die with?
Surviving Hell Oh, darling - take my hand! Welcome to the new world, our home - your new home! First though, dear, take caution and careful where you stare. It's better if your gawking eyes glare at my own, than to the flames that shall blind you from ever seeing the look that warns you now. Oh and darling, don't listen to the dares when some others as they try and convince you to look up to the stars. Especially the serpent - he began it as his test. But those stars above, they'll put you in a little trance that you may know best as "comatose". Oh no, dear- don't walk away! Trust me, just take my hand and I'll promise that if only of us makes it through - it'll be you.
Broken, Beating Heart There were rhythmic thumps at her door. It wasn't quite the sound of knocking, but she knew there must be something there. She stood and walked to the front door, glancing through the peephole. There was nothing but the gaseous elements of air existing upon the concrete stairs. Still, the sound continued - not worsening, yet promising no end.
Fear began in the bit of her stomach, and so she called up her ex-boyfriend. The only person she recently felt close to that still cared enough for her to drop anything and come to her door. Her cell rang into her ear for thirty-two seconds. Voicemail. She didn't bother to listen to his words before leaving her own. If only she knew the amount of regret she'd later feel.
With no other idea left but to rely on herself, they glanced one more through the door. She opened just a creak - and the sound of thumping increased immediately. There was nothing within her field of vision that revealed anything. Her mind p
.: What are We So Afraid Of :.
So Many things Cross our minds
Like whats better or worse
Being there and being bored
Or just not having time
But what we don't know is that
There are demons out there
Constantly Pounding in my head
It'll be a shame if now
all to soon, someone just ends up dead
But don't worry, its just a tale
or so your mother says
Remember as you go to sleep
And watch as your dreams bled.
Now heres where people don't really know
where true horror really lies
its whether we know we're seen or heard
or if we're less then flies
Because in the back of our heads
where the demons lie
The Theres only three things the we all truly fear
Being Truly dead
Being Truly Exiled
And the Scariest of all
B e i n g T r u l e y F o r g o t t e n
Rising Like SmokeRising Like Smoke
Darkness rose from seemingly nowhere like smoke
From the junction of the backstreet and Darkwood Road in municipal Arkham, Massachusetts, where most residents believed to be uninhibited, the darkness suddenly and mysteriously rose like a heavy blanket of smoke from an enormous bonfire. In fact, there was neither fire nor smoke; but someone or something was summoning the darkness. To be exact, the residents were too scared to investigate the junction, fearing very dark evil. There was a rumor that someone was reading from the black book.
"I swear to ya, someone has got that black book "Necronomicon"."
"You may be right. Darkness don't rise like smoke from anywhere."
They were both right, actually. Someone hid in the backstreet and recited something from Necronomicon to create that darkness. That happened at 5 pm, hours before real darkness fell. Eventually, when real darkness came, it mingled with the spell. Everyone in that side of the town locked door and
The Day the Clouds Turned to StoneThe day the clouds turned to stone, the world was filled with shadows. We crowded the streets and looked up, and upon seeing the monsters floating high above, we darted back into our homes, fortified our roofs. Airplanes that had been skimming through clouds at that inopportune moment were frozen in the sky, the passengers mummified.
There was no rain for a hundred days. It became a common sight to see people clawing at each other over access to wells. Our throats parched, we thought it could not get any worse, but that was before the clouds dropped to Earth and made tunnels right to its fiery core.
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