Poetry, Short Stories or Whatever

I like it. ^_^ I like the style you used, and it was very thought provoking.

 

This is a poem I wrote about having to live two lives, a striaght life and a gay life. Now I am a bad poet so don't all tear me apart at once

No one knows who I truly am,
Because I have woven a web of lies.
If someone looked hard they would know,
But no one really tries.

I feel trapped in my own life,
I'm dying to get free.
It kills me that no one knows,
The real and true me.

But I put on a brave face so no one can see,
The pain I feel in my heart.
I wish I could tell someone,
That the pain is tearing me apart.

The pain of lying day after day,
Without an end near.
I scream a silent plea,
But no one can hear.

As time goes by the pain grows dull,
And I begin to heal.
The anguish I once felt,
I now hardly feel.

There is still a place made by the pain,
A gap in my core.
The gap will always be there,
Even though the pain is no more.

I accept that I lead two lives,
I must to get by.
But one day I truly hope,
I will no longer have to lie.

 

I don't think it's that bad at all. Do you write a lot?

 

for poetry, only when i get in the mood. mostly when i am in bed and cant sleep. thats how the one above started. for fiction writing i can usually force myself to write

 

Yeah, I'm mostly the same way. Lately though, I just haven't been in the mood to write stories. I'm not sure why.

 

you should post some!

 

Like a hole in the cosmos, you have to fill
It up with something more then just
Farting around for all your days.
Even if it's hard, keep going.


Read the first letter of each line. Just a short one, but...

 

It may be short, but it's good. ^_^

And to Behling, I have some stuff on the previous page. ^_^

 

Again, sorry to post twice in a row. >.< These are lyrics I wrote a while ago, the song is called "Never". Original, I know. >.< But I couldn't really think of anything else, I'm bad with names.

Never is just a forever
That doesn’t start
And our broken hearts are just two more things
That break in the midst of the night
And teardrops, are just one more sound
That are lost in the flesh of the fire
And your voice is just one more thing
That is always just out of my reach

So I cry at night
And whisper a lullaby to the trees
The shadows slowly brush my skin
And carry me away
And mistakes were made once again
So we’ll knock at the gates till the gates will come down
And we’ll rush at the darkness and brandish our failures
And always remember with our dying breath

That mistakes are just one more lesson
That you can’t go back
And what’s done has been done

Sun sets and then the sun rises
And then the sun sets again
A rainbow will always appear
But that doesn’t mean that we will still be here
And there will always be more than one answer
But that doesn’t mean that the answers are right

So I lay awake
And whisper a poem to the raindrops
The shadows slowly brush my hair
And cradle me softly
And mistakes were made once again
So we’ll throw stones at the walls till the walls will come down
And we’ll armor ourselves with our false hope
And always remember with our dying breath

That mistakes are just one more lesson
That we can’t go back
And what’s done has been done

Never is just a forever
That doesn’t start
And our broken hearts are just two more things
That break in the midst of the night
Sun sets and then the sun rises
And then the sun sets again
A rainbow will always appear
But that doesn’t mean that we will still be here
And there will always be more than one answer
But that doesn’t mean that the answers are right
And teardrops, are just one more sound
That are lost in the flesh of the fire
And your voice is just one more thing
That is always just out of my reach

So I sit at night
And whisper a story to stars
The shadows slowly brush my lips
And leave me where I am
And mistakes were made once again
So we’ll yell at the beams till the beams will come down
And we’ll lead the way with the light of our dead love
And always remember with our dying breath

That mistakes are just one more lesson
That we can’t go back
And what’s done has been done

Never is just a forever
That doesn’t start

 

Bah, me again. This is the first part to a story I started last night titled "Fake". For once I'm writing something that I have planned out from start to finish. It will be three, maybe four parts. It is basically a journal, so there is no dialog or description of surroundings, I've left everything like that to your imagination.

Fake

I woke up in the hospital one day and didn’t remember how I got there. My arms, hands, and head were bandaged up. I couldn’t sit up because I was strapped down. My mother was crying and my father was sitting beside her.

When she saw that I was awake my mother flung her arms around me and kissed me. While she was telling me how glad she was to see that I was okay, my father left. He returned with a nurse and another woman. After a couple minutes, my parents left the room.

The nurse explained that I had tried to kill myself. She said she had never seen so many cuts on one body before. She said my parents had found me because my blood had leaked out under the door, and that I had barely made it. She introduced me to the other woman, Dr. Shaw.

I sat talking with the psychiatrist for an hour or two. I told her that things in my life were overall okay, despite being a bit boring. I told her that my parents were very loving, and that I had some very good friends at school who always listened when I had a problem.

I told her that I had never considered suicide before and that I didn’t remember what happened. I told her anything I thought would be important, and answered all her questions. For a moment I wondered if she’d be able to spot a lie, but I decided I didn’t need to find out that badly.

When she was done asking me questions, she told me she would be back to see me the next day. She talked with my parents for a little while. She talked to the nurse as well, and afterwards the nurse came in and undid the straps holding me to the bed. I couldn’t look at my mom because of the shame and disappointment we both felt, so when she came back in I pretended to be asleep.

When Dr. Shaw came back the next day, we didn’t talk as much. She had a lot fewer questions, and the things she asked seemed less important. When she was about to leave, I told her that I was scared. I told her waking up in the hospital and not remembering anything that happened was the most frightening thing I had ever experienced in my life. She told me that it was normal to be scared after what I went through, but if I was really scared then I wouldn’t do it again. She told me if it made me safe, she felt the fear was probably one of the best things for me at the moment. She told me it was more common than I would think for kids to end up in the hospital for trying to kill themselves, and she told me I was lucky to have made it. I didn’t say anything. I felt bad knowing that there were so many people who never got a second chance who probably really deserved one. They wouldn’t have made the same mistake twice.

I spent a lot of time with Dr. Shaw before they decided it was alright for me to go home. As far as they could tell I wasn’t depressed, my parents weren’t abusive, and I wasn’t on any drugs.

When I got home I spent a lot of time writing, and lying in bed just thinking. I didn’t talk to either one of my parents very much. When my mom wasn’t at work she was in no mood to talk, and when my dad was at home he was busy. This was fine with me; as far as I was concerned I didn’t need them telling me how disappointed they were. I had no desire to be constantly watched.

School started again soon, and everything was fine at first. And then it wasn’t.

 

I like it but what happens next? Dont u kno ur not supposed to leve us hangin?! ;P

 

A poem about lieing to my family and friends about being gay:

Painted Face

Hidden in the darkness of lies,
He lays moaning about his state.
He just sets there and cries,
While others spout their hate.

They hate who he‘s become,
Although of this they’re not aware.
They act so blind and dumb,
To him this isn’t fair.

He can easily turn on the light,
The switch is by his side.
But, he is held back by fright,
The feelings deep inside.

“If they know, they’ll hate me.”,
He tells himself all the time.
He wants to set himself free,
But, in life, he is a mime.

Never saying how he feels,
He hides behind his painted face.
Just silently eating all his meals,
At a slow, pathetic pace.

Alone is how he feels,
He wants to wash the paint off his face.
With one he loves, he wants to share his meals,
At happy, carefree pace.

But, for now, the boy just lies,
In a dark, dark place.
No matter how many times he tries,
He can’t take off that painted face.

I realize that some of the wording was made weird by trying to make it rhyme, but, well i tried.

 

You dont like short stories, then? how about this?

When a star is born and the night is young, I know your there.
When the sky is blue and the sun is strong, I will always care.
While the waters sparkled and the waves where calm, This I always knew.
But for once in my life, with your hand on my palm, I wish I was there with you.

When the clouds are dark and the rain begins to pour, I know your fears.
When the wind is blowing and the birds dont soar, I know your tears.
When the sun just wont shine, and the shadows cover all, I know your upset.
But no matter your feelings, For you, I will fall...
If we had only met.

I dream of you always and cant lose you from my mind. (If I did, it'd be a nightmare.)
As I search for you now, I feel like I'm blind. Oh, how much for you I care.
As I wonder the lands and look around, I'll always think of you.
My only wish is that somewhere out there...
You think of me to.

 

I like that! Its sweet. It sounds really good when you whisper it out loud. Just a thought.

 

OMG that is SO awesome!

 

i write poetry to get me though the difficult times... this i sone i wrote after my cousin ( and best friend) comitted suicide:

Journey's end
is near my friend
and your time has grown short
Journey's end
is near my friend
and your eyes are tired and sore.
Life is over
for you and I
but time won't let me be.
My hurt is fresh
and my life a mess
as you leave like you should
My body aches
and my bady shakes
as I try to deal with this
My body aches
and my body shakes
as I hit but always miss
Tears fall down
and hit the ground
when I try to speak to you
Tears fall down
and hit the ground
while I say goodbye to you.

 

I hope this is not considered grave-digging. This is from a comedic musical I wrote (I often write lyrics for friends as entertainment). Here the brother's main character attempts to persuade him not risk his life for an absurd scheme.

It’s better to be alive
Once dead no one can revive
Feet planted on the ground
Not the other way around

Better to be skin and bones
A debtor thin, but thick in loans
Than numerals on Pluto’s accounts
Where funerals total up amounts

Better to be poor and old
Sleeping on a floor that’s cold
Than in a wooden, dark, grayed box
And a solemn pillow made of rocks

It’s better to be alive
Once dead no one can revive
It’s better to live and thrive
Some how you must survive

Better to play well and lose
To never betray your views
Than play crooked games of chess
The winner’s name you can guess

Better to labor in a field
Coveting your neighbor’s yield
Than harvested by Farmer Death
A man whose seed is your last breath

It’s better to be alive
Once dead no one can revive
It’s better to be here instead
Of an eternal bed
It’s better to be alive
Once dead, you’re through
It’s better to be alive
Than waiting in death’s queue

 

^That's actually pretty deep to be in a comedic musical, it's really good.

Umm, I guess I can post the prologue to a fanfic i'm working on in my blog. I still need a title, but I think I already have it. Anyway, I hope it isn't too long to be a prologue...

::This fanfic will have descriptions of violence, gore, as well as some(not explicit) adult themes and some profanity. Reader discretion is advised.::

Prologue

Silent Hill, the beautiful resort town located in the Toluca District, is the hometown of 21 year-old Erick Lepper. In his teens, Erick admitted to his family that he was gay, causing the disownment of him by his father and his forced removal from their household. Living as a squatter in a seperate part of town, because of the shame he felt for his orientation, Erick had met a young woman vacationing in Silent Hill, 19 year-old Karen Welsh. She kindly took him in after seeing the torment he was dealing with by other teenagers, and quickly became Erick's best friend and support after she warmingly accepted him being gay. Together, they lived a stable life at her apartment in the nearby town of Brahms, until the night Karen was brutally attacked and killed in a mugging.

Erick could do nothing but watch in fear inside Karen's car as his only friend was murdered due to the greed of 3 men. He had completely shut himself off from the world after that, traumatized by the state Karen was left in and by the cruel, corrupt minds he felt all people had. Erick lived out the rest of his teens in a foster home, always being distant and cold to the other kids, until he was released and was able to earn enough money to rent his own apartment. For 3 years he lived in silence, barely keeping his job and living with nothing but Karen's pink-leather diary as a memento of the woman who was the only source of happiness for him. His quiet life has been disrupted however, by a note that mysteriously appeared on the last page of the diary:

"To Erick,

I know life has caused you so much misery,
but you can't live in fear.

That only leads to endless suffering.

Go back to Silent Hill,
you will find your reason to live there.

-Karen"

A thick fog eerily rolls in after, but Erick has already made up his mind. He's going to Silent Hill.

 

I LOVe Writting!

 

a story i wrote. the first in a long time for me.

Purgatory Angel
Bullets flew as guns popped loudly through the night. People screamed. As soon as the deadly fire stopped a car screeched and sped off. Samantha’s neck screamed in pain. She lay on the floor of the broken down house in the worst parts of the city. Smoke rose off the bullets in the cold crisp night. All Samantha realized in her sudden calmness was that she was dying.

She hadn’t lived a good life nor a long life. In fact she barely lived at all. Everyday scraping by to get enough money for the drugs before she started looking for food. Sneaking around late at night in the desolate areas of the city to meet her customers whether they were buying more drugs or sex. Samantha didn’t value her life. For her it was hell. But she really didn’t know much more growing up in the poorest area of the city. All she knew was stealing, break-in, drug deal, prostitution and hiding from the cops.

As she lay dying she wondered what was next. Was there really a God? An after-life? Reincarnation? Eternal punishment? During her life she never really thought twice about faith. Except when it took her victims outside of the house on their way to Sunday mass, where she would either car-jack their car or break into their house. That basically summed up the amount of her faith.

When she died her spirit did a little twist and burst into gold sparks. At first she twirled downward then she stopped and her spirit disappeared. The next thing she knew she was thrown onto a cold concrete ground. Around her she saw dilapidated buildings and graffiti sprayed carelessly across the buildings and along the sidewalks. Getting up she realized she was piled on with rusty steel chain links which wound around her wrists and ankles and eventually led to a large stone ball. She looking in front of her and about a quarter mile away stood a long line of people all dressed in rags and covered in varying amounts of chains.

Samantha saw people of all ages. Old men with heavy chains, adults with amounts trailing behind them, and even small children with the lightest of loads. Something pulled her forward and suddenly each leg began to lift. She began to walk chains dragging her down. When she finally caught up to the line she tapped the man in front of her on the shoulder. When he turned around Samantha gasped. The mans face was badly bruised and blood. Yet when he talked his voice was surprisingly kind.
“ Can I help you, miss?” he said.

“Um… Where am and I? Whats going? Wha-?” Samantha stammered as she began to cry.
“Miss calm down! There is no need to fret. See you are in purgatory. Since you did not go straight to hell I presume you will get a chance to redeem yourself. But since you didn’t go straight to heaven you’re going to be in this line for quite some time.”
Samantha sniffed, “What do you mean? Quite some time?”

The man frowned, “I can’t tell you that, miss. It depends on what you’re here for. Anyway I don’t even know how long I’ll be here. But one thing you must know: Don’t get out of line. No matter how bored or tired you are. Or you may not be able to get back in.”
Samantha looked at him wide eyed. Then she stared at the appearently never ending line in front of her. “So…. What do you suppose you’re here for?”

The man looked stern for a moment then replied, “In life I was a nice respected man. But when my wife left me I became distraught. I began to spend most of my life drinking and gambling. Then one night I made a bet I couldn’t cash. Well the man wasn’t to happy and it didn’t help he was drunk out of his mind either. He began to beat me up. Then the rest of his gang came at me. After being beat senseless and unconscious they tied my body to my now destroyed motorbike and through me in a river.”

Samantha did not wince. Growing up in a bad area made stories like this the norm. Still she replied, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. See with me I grew up in a really bad area of a large city. I dropped out of schoo when I was 16 to join a gang. I got into drug dealing and prostitution. I also began to take many different drugs and drink. Then last night my gang got into a shoot-out. I got scared and ran home. Well one of the members of my gang had gotten killed because I ran. So the members decided as just punishment they would shoot out my home in hopes of killing me. And as you can see they succeeded.”

They man nodded. Although that wasn’t the life he was used to he’d heard such on the local news. “Well to help you out a bit when you get to the front of the line a saint will ask you what you did wrong in this life, what you could have done instead, if you are sorry, and why you think he should let you go to heaven.”

Samantha nodded her head, “Uh, thanks. But how my life turned out was not my fault! I grew up in a bad area. I didn’t have the same opportunities as other people. I-“

“Miss! Life is what you make of it. Even if you don’t get dealt a good hand you can’t just give up.”

“But I don’t get what I was supposed to do?” Samatha pleaded.

“Well,” said the man, “You have a long time to figure it out.” And he smiled a mouth full of broken teeth.

Time passed. Minutes turned into hours which turned into days. The never-ending line slowly trudged forward. It reminded Samantha of the great march in the holocaust. The only differences were that the people were already dead and supposedly ending towards happiness at the end of the line. In the time it took to walk many miles Samantha talked to many people. Some were tired lost souls who had given up on God and were getting out of line. The man in front of her stayed put.

He said that they only place the people who got out of line were going was hell. At the edge of the clouded city was a giant fiery drop that sends whoever goes over the edge straight to hell. That was why it was smart to stay in line. Also there was no way that anybody would let you cut or back in. That people who walked to the front instead of waiting went to hell no questions asked. The reason being that God has time for those who wait.

All right then Samantha had agreed. Its not like she wanted to stray anyway. She would just wait till she got to the front and to her eternal judgement. She looked off into the distance. Outside of the layers of broken and half destroyed buildings all there was graffiti smeared cloud cover.

As Samantha looked behind her she noticed the line was getting longer and longer. Yet at the same time she seemed to be getting nowhere fast.