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572403 No.48   [Delete]   [Edit

Just a thread to post some of the things I have been writing lately. It's a lot, that's why my own thread, hohoho aren't i presumptuous

Well, let's start it, shall we
My take on Masada - apparently in my imagination he was an angsty artist:

Masada, Masada.
Masada is always smiling. Always smiling, even if his eyes are crying. Sad. Melancholy smile, but he is happy, happy.

Masada, about him, his heart is pure. Just like snow, but he cries easily, inside. And about him, about us, he told me he wanted to fly. He wanted to be part of the sky.

He lived in a small but wonderful house. It was white, pure white, and snowy kittens lived with him. Their soft and furry paws, poking playfully at his legs, meowing, frolicking in the sunlight that flowed through the long, narrow windows. I still remember him, sitting at his piano, long ivory fingers flowing and splashing across the keys. And the music, the music was as pure too - even if it did seem sad, just like him, just like him.
“Masada... cookies, for you.”
Masada, he always was like that. His body, clad in black garments, and hair that reached to his chin, parted in the middle so his face always was covered by floppy hair. He looked sinister that way, but he was nice. He always was like that. Soft, tender, warm. Just like sunlight. Masada patted me.

I watched him, chewing silently, watched his slender back as he composed his last piece. Kittens, at my feet, meowing and meowing, their small bells that hung around their puny necks chiming, chiming, chiming.

His death bells chimed that way, too.

>> No.49   [Delete]   [Edit]

Sky Garden

Eternity, the scent of flowers.
Darkness, the light of emptiness.

Whenever my wayward legs would carry me to that special place, I just wanted to sit down and fade away.

Loneliness, the distant chiming of hope -
or maybe it is foolishness, my lack of courage to open my eyes.

I never knew why no one cared to fix up that place, replace all the dangling light-bulbs, kill those lovely flowers that silently waited for their cold deaths - but maybe the people were just like me, scared and lonely, looking for places to fix the broken dreams.

Flowers, everywhere -
flowers, to end and start despair.
I fed them my tears, they fed me their light.
More, or less, or maybe more - I'm not sure
I wasn't sure of anything.

I once went there for a few days, making it my little special haven. Barricaded the doors, brought a small flashlight whenever the sun seized to be, a bag full of selfishness...

To end,
or to start?

I wanted to curl up and die.

It was heaven.

But, disgrace - the scent of humans -
disgrace, the disgrace for the flowers.
I could never dare to stain them that badly.

When I left,
I left.

There was nothing more, nothing less.
No answers, no questions.

Eternity, the scent of flowers.

Maybe, if I was a flower, I would be less -...

Emptiness, the lover of darkness.

Last edited 10/07/04(Sun)02:05.

>> No.50   [Delete]   [Edit]

I very much enjoyed these, even if they were short. The way you write is very lyrical, like you injected poetry into your prose. Very nice. Especially the Sky Garden one. My only qualm was that some of the sentences seemed a bit off because of tiny errors. Like "brought a small flashlight whenever the sun seized to be, a bag full of selfishness..."

You can't seize to be, you were probably looking for 'ceased' to be. Also, the comma before "a bag" is unneeded. Other than that, poifect.

>> No.53   [Delete]   [Edit]


>snowy kittens lived with him. Their soft and furry paws, poking playfully at his legs, meowing, frolicking in the sunlight that flowed through the long, narrow windows.

There's a picture like that somewhere in /seccom/...

>> No.56   [Delete]   [Edit]


Actually you're right. I was looking for cease. I just didn't know how to spell it derpderp
But I think I wasn't clear about the bag. She brought with her two things: a bag and a flashlight. My bad.

But thank you so much for reading these. :3 I respect you a lot so my head grew twice its size hoho


Probably the picture that inspired me.

>> No.57   [Delete]   [Edit]

No problemo, heh. So long as you (and others) keep writing, odds are I'll read and critique. Keep it up. :3

>> No.71   [Delete]   [Edit]


and emptiness
that echoes through this room

the broken pen
scrawling across the paper
with words
you wouldn't even bother to read

the smell
of rotting flesh
hidden away in a corner
and my blood
the proof of womanhood
trickling down my skin

if i could find a way
to cut that part away
just to be another person
not like this
not like that

the dreams
even there
everything haunts me
rotting teeth
rusty blood
dreams of people i
wish for

no one
is real there
not even me

just the wind
that caresses my numb skin
and the sound of cars
speeding by

this isn't flying
this isn't flying
this isn't...


just the
tinkling of

>> No.115   [Delete]   [Edit]

9 p.m.

"... lonesome bells, tinkling, twinkling - resound, resound! ..."

Fingertips that travel across the dusty surface of the table top, leaving behind traces of loneliness. She glances at this, lifts her heavy eyelids a bit, just enough to see a bit clearer - studying the pattern, the curves, the pathways.
Her own little hell maze on top of her desk.

"... for it is the only thing that fills my shallow and hollow soul, coloring my world a lighter shade of crimson ..."

Silently she continues to mumble, her voice trailing off every now and then - not talking to anyone in particular, maybe to that ghost in her room that watches from every corner she knows of.
Drowsiness - that familiar feeling. She mustn't fall asleep. Still, she allows herself to retreat back to that darkness once more, that emptiness behind her eyelids. Her own little space, little universe with empty stars and burnt out suns; not so much to look at, still so strangely comforting and soothing...

"... whisper, little flowers, sing me that long forgotten lullaby ..."

Suddenly, her hands glide across the surface, destroying the maze altogether. The dust flutters up, dancing, floating, making their existence known through the dim lighting of the lamp shade - something she doesn't care to look at anymore. The beauty of ugliness has long started to bore her; seen it all already, in her mind and through her eyes.

She's not sure what to do, anymore.
Shallow breath, shallow breath...

" ... little flowers, wilting away - how i wish i was like you ..."

... shallow, shallow.
She tilts her head back and laughs hoarsely. No more. No more.
No more... (no more?)


(will be continued)

>> No.270   [Delete]   [Edit]



Breathing walls.
Suffocating walls.

My hands pressed against them, trying to push away the sadness, the loneliness, trying to push away the mass of nothingness that was slowly inching towards me.
My feet shuffled, they were itchy, felt like I should just take a knife and cut away those little piles of potatoes.


My room was full. My room was empty. My room was lonely, it was cold and shivering and moving all around, awake and asleep, dazed and amazed, in a fit of fury and passion, eager to find ways to break apart my jigsaw heart even more.

"Little one", it whispered, and I saw so many colours, as if it wanted to make my day a bit happier. There was blue, I think, and red and green and yellow and white - and they flashed up, flashed up, lit up my world, my eyes, penetrated deep into my soul and left children of emptiness in there.
I felt them move around in me, felt them push against the walls of my chest, felt them yearn for the warm touch of their mother, their father -
and my heart, it fell apart, came together, melted into a puddle of brightly colored caramel and strawberries, so much that I could almost taste it on my tongue.

My hands shivered, trembled, searched for something to hold on to, clambered to grip into something soft, soft, tender. But the walls, they were so hard, and now they were so close, and I could barely breathe, only inches of breath that crept into my dusty lungs and slowly jumped out again -
leftovers of yesterday -
shimmering eyes, like bubbles, that burst into tiny shards of glimmering specks of silver - they bury themselves deep into my skin - enter me, like tiny fishes -
and I can't breathe -
I can't breathe -

so flimsy -
my hair that's sticking to my face and taking my view of everything -
and maybe my vegetable body, slowly being cut into the tiniest little pieces, ready to be devoured by the hungry mouth of my needy room -

empty -
full -

so I feel my blood gushing now, into every corner of my body, filling me up and drowning me with it's bittersweet taste, a trickle of womanhood that finds it's way down my legs, to the potatoes, to the soft fur beneath my skin, to the bubble people who stare at me in contempt and disgust, ready to scratch at my innards with rusting nails -

break apart -

break apart -

break apart -

break ---

and then, just so, my heart stopped beating and ushered me into a room with eyes, all of them blinking, crying, lamenting me, lamenting me. I wanted to stop, wanted to curl up and die, but they pushed me on with living, pushed me to the edge, made me reach down between my legs and feel the softness of my own blood, the heat of time that made me gag with nausea.

I looked up, into everything -
reached out with my tiny, tiny hands -
and painted the flesh colored walls with the proof of my being.

I heard my name.

From somewhere out there, beyond the door of my endless chamber.
It reminded me of something - long ago -
but my room talked to me, told me not to stop, made me color the walls more, more, more.


>> No.271   [Delete]   [Edit]

The red bird of freedom

Flip, flap
Whispers and weathers
Endless sky that withers
Your hair just like feathers
But you cannot fly

Flip, flap
You dance in the wind,
Or just leave behind a sin,
Opening the eyes and hearts of -
of nothing at all

Flip, flap
You are not a bird
And still you fly
You are not a bird
You are not a bird

>> No.280   [Delete]   [Edit]

black cat

She said
And withered
With a last ragged breath
Her black fur
Sticky beneath my fingers
And her delicate tongue
Protruding like a long lost secret
I breathe in
The smell of decay
The smell of feverish love
And proceed
To make her mine
She does not mind
Now that she is resting
And it's so convenient
How no one ever goes up here
How she presents her heart
So willingly

I reach out
To her secret dreams
And make her mine
I sink my teeth
Into her core
And watch
The skies
Turn a faint, dirtied

>> No.376   [Delete]   [Edit]

snowflake fireworks

I watch him, as he brushes aside a strand of hair
Staring at the tiny screen resting inside his smooth palm
So transfixed, removed - so intensely focused on another reality
His sanctuary

I wish to understand him more.

He smiles at me, reaches out
And coldness spreads out, like ripples
On the surface of old, oily bathwater
The sensation of childishness,
Does he know what he does?

I wish to understand him more.

The wish to touch his hand and
Know that this person...
The wish to look him in the eye and know that
This person will be...

I wish to understand him more.

I wish to know him more.

I wish to be closer.

So I watch him, from behind a glass pane
Wishing indefinitely for relief from this sickness.

Is it too much if I said, "I love you?"

I wish to be with you.

>> No.378   [Delete]   [Edit]


What are you trying to tell me

>> No.379   [Delete]   [Edit]

I believe he is trying to tell you to report him since he is spamming every board with that shit...

>> No.380   [Delete]   [Edit]


O ok

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