What to say,
How to say it
"You're on my mind all the time,
But I am still playing".
Maybe that is why no one should know these things in advance -
Because how can a love like that stand any chance.
You might be afraid
But then just reach out,
You feel it too
Or am I just mad.
A message written, a message unsent
Tired of waiting,
I'm going to bed.
My head aches
For the expectations I've had,
My heart breaks
Every time I look at
The pictures of you
And your stupid stories,
The things that you post
Should not be the cause of my worries.
Another let down
But I am okay,
The wind blows a storm,
Just be on your way.
That smile a fake
That I used to believe in,
Leave me alone -
I am a new kind of being.
Another Ken doll,
Another sad clown,
Which one are you?
Candles burn down.
My head aches no longer,
My heart is set free.
This time I have chosen,
And I've chosen me.
How easy would it be
To drown the feelings in red wine?
How many glasses would it take
To leave it all behind?
I don't agree with slanted limits
They set for us, those snakes,
What would it take
To break their spirits,
Destroy their grip,
Rewrite the rules?
Laugh all you want,
Your days are numbered,
There is a chart that karma keeps,
It's been two decades
I've grown stronger,
But you will wither in your sleep.
Ant has been biting,
Mimes playing roles they can't sustain,
I've always thought
You were the good ones -
All you can do is hiss and feign.
This one was published by my university’s student newspaper 🙂 Now you can read it here, or follow the link: http://www.palatinate.org.uk/?p=63474
We could’ve been perfect,
But we weren’t at all –
You lived to party,
While I stayed at home.
And I am Fox Kids.
You talked too much,
When I wanted peace.
You were forgetful
And driving me mad,
Yet charming and funny –
You weren’t that bad.
We’re complete opposites
But at a faraway point,
On the line at infinity
2014, creative, creative writing, euphoria, faith, family, fantasy, fiction, identity, insomnia, letter, life, loneliness, love, people, poetic justice, rebel, revolution, short story, sister, thoughts
Hades International Centre
Persephone Road, HP6691
November 23, 2042
I hope you are well. I am not completely sure that this letter will find you, but since you left for Hades, I don’t know how to reach you otherwise, and this also might be the safest way to contact you.
We miss you, Lizzy. Darren misses you.
Things are drastically changing here on Ares. The government calls it a virus. They lock people up, so we’re trying not to attract unnecessary attention. Love is not a virus, Lizzy. It’s a revelation. If only you stayed, you would’ve witnessed magic in the eyes of your son. Darren asks me about you everyday. How long do you want me to lie to him?
Who am I kidding? I am angry with you! I feel the heat flushing through my body when I think of how you left us. You are my older sister and I need you now more than ever, Lizzy. I need you to come back to Darren and give him the motherly love he yearns for, because, this new world, Lizzy, where love is ruling, it’s completely different from everything we’ve known before.
I remember feeling unfinished as if they forgot to install a vital piece into the machinery that is my body. I used to watch people from the porch; I suffered from insomnia and fatigue. I was lonely and didn’t even see it. Then that rebel came out of nowhere. They call her the skyey emancipator. You should’ve heard of her – I am sure that her influence reached as far to the corners of our system as Hades. Now I know the meaning of euphoria, racing pulse and a fluttering in the stomach, yet I still can’t risk showing my true feelings.
Darren goes to school everyday. He seems to be doing fine, but some of the kids continue to tease him because of his red hair. I tell him that his mother is the most beautiful redhead on the planet. He just laughs. I guess if Darren where a girl, he would appreciate this more.
On the serious note, I am a little scared for our future. The radio was disabled last night. The government’s spies are eavesdropping on phone and video calls. Life as we know it doesn’t exist anymore. Wherever the revolution leads the world, I strongly hope that at some point it would make us cross paths with you.
I wish for you to come back to your family, Lizzy.
Once upon a time there lived a person, who never told anyone his real name. Some used to call him Mr. Jones, so let us stick with this name for the sake of the story.
Mr. Jones, apart from his off-scale arrogance, happened to be an extremely agreeable young man, who stole more than one brittle woman’s heart. He enjoyed his daily rendezvous, and always got away with them. He was very good at his job: master of avoiding questions, never using the same name twice with the women. Only his close pals knew who he really was.
Mr. Jones – a modern heartthrob, a twenty-first century Don Juan. He had many faces, but one face for them all, for poor women. They didn’t stand a chance.
It happened on a Wednesday.
He took the bus to work on that day instead of taxi, because he lost his wallet the previous night. Having no time to worry about that, he hurried back to his dull desk. Just like anti-Clark Kent, he became an ordinary office rat during the light hours.
Behind his round glasses, pretending to be typing, he was carefully scanning the room for his new victim.
‘What the hell?’ he heard himself yelling.
‘I’m so sorry! No need to worry, I will get it myself.’
He looked up and saw a young woman, the one he had never seen before, or at least her fine red ponytail, leaning over him to get the pen she accidently dropped on him. It rolled behind the keyboard, but she just did not see it.
‘Here,’ he said, handing her the stupid thing.
‘Thanks. This is my first day, I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr.–‘
‘Jones. Mr. Jones. And you are?’
But she was already gone.
And Mr. Jones, for the first time in his disgusting life, fell in love. Just like that, from the first sight of the red ponytail of the woman who didn’t even tell him her name.
The rest of the week he spent drinking and clubbing. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him – his heart was eating his brain. He called in sick and asked for a non-paid leave for a couple of days. By the end of Sunday, the brain had been digested by ninety-six percent. So Mr. Jones decided to get back to work the next day and find the girl.
They ran into each other in the hallway. She claimed she didn’t recognise him.
‘I am not very good with faces,’ she lied.
‘Neither am I, but I remembered your ponytail.’
‘Too bad that’s all you will ever remember of me.’
Before Mr. Jones could do anything, even though he probably couldn’t without the help of his brain, the girl ripped his heart right out of his chest, put it in her purse and took the first taxi to the airport.
Never take the bus on Wednesday, was Mr. Jones’ last shadow of a thought.