Title: Lady Serpentine
Author: Alex (me)
Rating: R
Genre: Abstract.
Fandom: Original
Word Count: 993
Notes: Originally posted at damnedimmortal, I decided to post this here as I haven't written in this since August. :3

( Liar, you tempt me. )

Title: Sweet Sacrifice
Author: Alex (me)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy.
Fandom: Original
Word Count: 461
Notes: Written for the 15minuteficlets challenge community.


( Solitude, I can't stay away from you. )

I need to vent.

I really just want to go dancing in the rain, pretending like I just dumped an asshole of a boyfriend. (Keep in mind-I'm still currently single.)

I want to scream at the top of my lungs until I can no longer breathe.

I want to punch the living bejesus out of every moron who still supports the ridiculous administration currently in office. (Keep in mind, I'm not normally a violent person.)

I want to forget the insecurity, the regret, the everything.

I want to stop comparing myself to every other fucking girl in the universe. I want to feel like the only fucking girl in the universe.

I need to have my heart broken so I can understand pain.

I need to have my hopes crushed so that I might be able to think positively. (Keep in mind, I'm a pessimist.)

I need to have someone to hold so that I can really know what it's like to have a shoulder on which to cry.

I want to be done with all of the bullshit I've built around myself.

It's time to fucking break this Berlin wall dividing me down.

So after years of writing strictly free verse with the occasional haiku or whatnot thrown in, I decided to try something new. I posted this over at my allpoetry.com account of Wallflowerchild, but I also decided to place it here as well. Any and all comments would be greatly appreciated.

This is called an etheree, and, actually, this is a double etheree, where there's ten lines with a syllable pattern that goes: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. In a double, the second verse is reversed: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

( So spoke misery. )

Title: Lullaby (Goddess of Virtue)
Author: abstractmuse
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,233
Summary: Prostitution is quite the glamorous life, or so a niave daughter thinks.
Author's Note: So wildmage1688 requested an original piece prompted by: 'blood' and 'chocolate.' So I wrote it, and here it is.
Warnings: Drugs, sex, lesbianism, and murder. Enjoy. :D


( Sweet Surrender )

Title: Murky Waters
Author: abstractmuse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 100
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Pairing: Jack/Elizabeth
Author's Note: So wildmage1688 requested a Jack/Elizabeth drabble, and I obliged. This is my first venture into the "Pirates" fandom, so I hope you enjoy. :)

( You only want it 'cause it's over. )

I got a little bored, and I ended up writing about said boredom and how frustrated I am with summer. Enjoy, as I haven't written here in awhile.

Soliloquy

Shallow breath comes rushing in,
like the erratic wind,
the dying waves in an endless sea of pinned butterflies.
In the breakdown,
there is no beauty,
no artwork except the fancy frame they place around it,
cheaply embedded with passive intent and faux ability.
She sees in shades of gray as others bleed in black and white,
hopelessly lost among the devoted.
They’ve got their sacred temples to cherish,
their hollow habits to indulge in.
She’s alone in the shadows,
begging for any sort of lullaby,
something soft, placid,
any sort of drug that can help her sleep.

Only decency had the sense to shut her up,
silence her childish tears with a bittersweet stab to the back.
The rest of them just watched,
stricken by the ignorance seeping from her insides.

She’s a mechanical angel, now,
she’s become one of them.
Back when they still possessed one single, solitary beating heart,
they might’ve helped her up.

She found out the hard way-
she hung her useless words,
the pathetic dreams that once held her lullabies.

Lightning scares me. Thunder moves me. Combined, they get me high off of trepidation and expectation.

I somehow always get it in my mind that I'm going to die.

Thus, this child-like feeling inspired a poem:

The Angels’ Sport

Flash,
stricken,
boom,
gone.
Fury unravels like wire,
the undoing of a god held up high,
the disintegration of faith so willingly misplaced.
An unspoken mystery voiced through supernatural rage,
a pinprick of a spectrum dissipated
A cheap magic trick,
an arrogant display of disillusionment.
The Earth cries tears colored blood.
Flash,
devastation,
boom,
eradication.
One blink of an eye,
one purse of the lips,
and everything beautiful,
everything sound,
falls into an anarchic symphony,
soundtrack to a life caught by the webbings of fear.

Dance

Flighty shadows flirt with intoxicated silhouettes,
a haphazard mosaic of miscellaneous patterns strewn carelessly across the wall.
In moonlight,
the dream grows,
arching its mauve back towards the goddesses and the stars.
Night is a particularly dangerous mistress,
donning the witchcraft moon and setting down the pious sun,
favorable to the winds of change,
breaching this temporary bandage to the gaping hole between black and white.
She spins around,
catching falling wishes on her tongue,
all regret melting like rain water in her mouth.
She sings for the wallflowers,
her chorus a tribute to all those without a voice.
She’s a bit lightheaded,
but that just might be the limitations speaking,
the boundaries they created to restrict her land of the free.
Midnight casts illumination upon their misery,
darkening the pinholes of hope and restoration they found lingering in her kiss.
She’s but a butterfly child,
all brittle wings and no backbone,
flighty as the wilderness eyes that overcome them as they try to pass her by.
She’s but loose change in the holes of someone else’s pocket,
falling into the cracks of whatever pavement next comes her way.
Evening sets,
and mourning follows,
tidal waves of relief for all to see,
on display.
The clock again begins her dizzy chants,
and they fall down again,
the beginning of start of this cyclical dance.

that_evening, __rosedark, and wildmage1688, your drabbles are ready!

DISCLAIMER: I own none of these fandoms, nor anyone within them. This is purely recreational, I assure you.

1. The Setting of the Sun (LOST; Sun/Sayid.) (For that_evening.) PG

( Her joy resembled the Mona Lisa in form, a clandestine to which only her petal lips held the answer. )

So I'm working on drabble requests right about now. Be patient, my pretties. They'll be finished soon, I promise. (And when I say 'soon,' I mean after school lets out.)

In the meantime, here's another poem: (This one isn't particularly kid-safe, so I'm putting it behind a cut.)

( Read more... )

One of my more recent influences on writing has been listening to AFI's "Decemberunderground." I posted this also at my allpoetry.com account, under the name of Wallflowerchild, and figured it'd be a good piece to start of this scrapbook journal. In no uncertain terms, it's my take on the album's themes.

December

Brittle, fragile,
broken,
a careless, used piece of a memory,
a shard that's never truly known what it means to be whole.
Apathetic winds dance in discord among the decaying,
frozen hearts burst in anticipation,
from waiting.
Embers fall victim to the fleeting touch of celebration,
stomped out by ashes and treaded delicately upon before the calm of storm.
Chimney rouge,
burlesque shame,
hand in hand,
praising choirs and dignities unnamed.
Home is where the heart is,
and warmth is here to stay.
But tell that to flighty December.
Tell that to the whimsical harlot with her hands upon your knees.
Into her pleading eyes,
dare to look,
dare to turn away.
The incendiary comfort,
it’s but a moment against this dismal portrait of white and gray.
This tender heartache,
yeah, I’d like to see you turn away.
Crestfallen moonlight,
desolation as thick and as potent as warmed honey,
runs between human fingers as easily as any soap.
Try and grasp the liquid magnitude,
yeah, I’d like to see you try.
Oh, petty December.
How you leave us all broken in your wake.