A place to share all of your original stories, songs, poems, lyrics, etc.
|04-13-2006, 01:27 PM||please read and feed back-be brutally honest! Post #1|
please read and feed back-be brutally honest!
i wrote most of these at my lowest point so take into account they are probably a tad gloomy!
A greasy cafe
I slide into my usual seat, amongst the remains of full English breakfasts;
bacon grease, beans and hardened egg yolk. Behind the counter i can smell
another fry up, sizzeling with fat, being prepared.
I shudder. I hate this cheap, greasy cafe, with it's cheap greasy food
served by cheap, greasy staff. So why do i come here every single day? Why
do i walk through that peeling doorway, sit here, stirring my lukewarm,
lumpy orange tea until it goes so cold that i wouldn't drink it anyway?
The answer is simple. Because of the lady who sits by the window. The lady
who, when i came in, hard faced, fierce-eyed, hood up, filled with rage,
didn't glare at me; didn't clutch her bag protectively as though i were
about to snatch it.
She smiled. Not a nervous or pitying meaningless twitch of facial muscles;
but a real, eye sparkling, world spinning, geniune smile. Before i could
stop them, i felt my own lips turn up into a shy little half smile. Nothing
was said. But since then, instead of passing by, i always find my feet
walking me inside and seating me at my usual table.
Just to see her smile at me again. A smile can make life worth hanging
onto. A smile can save a soul...
Are you sleeping?
Are you sleeping? You look as though you are. Your face is relaxed and
peaceful; all the lines of life smoothed out , the grooves pain has dug
filled out. I've never seen you look so beautiful, so pure, so untouched.
The perfect scene, at a quick glance. If i look closer i know i'll see that
your chest is too still, your skin too white, your countenance too
motionless. I'll see the empty pill bottle in your outstretched hand, your
long fingers curled protectively around it. And i'll know the truth.
Sometimes it's better to see what your mind wants you to see.
I imagine you're sleeping, so realistically i almost see your chest
contracting... in.... out... I hear the slow, steady breathes fill and empty
your lungs, feel your heart beating a tattoo on your ribcage; thump...
Your lungs are still. Your heart is dead. Your lips are blue with no oxygen
to colour them crimson. But in my eyes, you're still sleeping.
Sometimes it's better to see what your mind wants you to see, or reality
will haunt you forever.
A hand shakes my shoulder gently. I shrug it off. "She's gone, son. She's
gone..." No! I try to explain, show them that they're wrong, that really you
are sleeping. I shake you tenderly, willing you to wake, feeling that if i
keep on knowing that you're only dreaming, any moment you'll wake and we'll
mend the world together.
Are you sleeping? You have to be. There's nothing left without you. I'm
nothing without you. Nothing. I know you're sleeping. I know you're just
lost deep in dreams. Wake up. Please. Please....
those small details
funny the details that stick in your mind, suspended, haunting a soul for
eternity. Rosy cheeks shining with the residue of too many tears.
Eyes, such eyes, a multitude of greens, browns and beige; eyes which have
seen to much too young. Each pupil a gaping abyss, drowning those't look too
Nails, bitten to the quick, torn and ravaged by frantic teeth, telltales of
childish anxiety and unease. Telltales on a mind in anguish and confusion.
Telltales of someone i never knew.
Arms, firm young flesh, crisscrossed with gohstly scars and fresh crimson
stains. Arms hidden from a mother's watchful eye, a father's jesting play,
a friend's touch. Arms that scream for help and escape.
Words, writen in tear-smudged ink, angry loops and savage strokes, words
that shout a message no one took the time to hear, before it was finally
thrown in their faces in despair. Before it was too late.
A tired, drawn face which has seen all this too many times before.
Sorrowful, down-turned lips forming those bone chilling words; "i'm so
A sickened stomach
Misery wells like salt tears
I retreat again.
hurt inside her,
cuts and bruises,
patch her up and
send her off home,
watch her destroy,
inside she hides,
marks on her skin,
look in her eyes,
did no one dare,
to ask her why?
hope you like these!
|04-13-2006, 02:26 PM||please read and feed back-be brutally honest! Post #2|
Join Date: Mar 2006
Total Points: 333.07
Wow.Those are realy amazing and moving.Your very talented and you express emotion realy well.Are you sleeping nearly made me cry.It's so beautiful.I love it.
|04-13-2006, 03:16 PM||please read and feed back-be brutally honest! Post #3|
Join Date: Apr 2006
Location: I live in North Carolina, near Raleigh
Total Points: 404.39
I really liked "Are you Sleeping" a lot. I did not fully grasp the first one, as it did not flow for me, but, "Are you Sleeping" has moved me too much to reread it right now. I promise I'll reread and reassess the first one, but 'Sleeping' was tremendous, in a please don't be dead way.
|04-16-2006, 09:31 PM||please read and feed back-be brutally honest! Post #6|
Princess of Denial
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Queensland, Australia
Total Points: 7,960.46
Are you sleeping? is amazing! I really loved 'A Greasy Cafe'. I think there were a few issues with rhythm/flow but it really captured me.
|04-17-2006, 10:26 AM||please read and feed back-be brutally honest! Post #7|
actually i think theres been a little confusion; greasy cafe, are you sleeping and small details are actually short stories, not poems. still agree with ou onthe greasy cafe though, the flow needs work.
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