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Sep. 20th, 2009 @ 12:47 am For Laura
We are going to invade Denmark.
It wasn't our first choice of coup.
But I'd rather have a second rate revolution
than burn buildings without you.
We'll throw off those shackles together.
The locals will praise our names.
When presidents look at the havoc we're wreaking
They'll know that we're not playing games.

We'll set the world on fire.
We'll burn this mother down.
Nothing, Nothing can stand in our way.



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Aug. 19th, 2009 @ 12:56 am Ode
We long to be broken by you.
We throw caution to the wind.
We abandon ourselves for what could be,
ignoring the lessons of the past.
We die in you. A thousand deaths,
each day another blow, an offered wrist.
But you don't exist.
I cannot breath you in,
only wafting scents of vanilla.
I cannot feel you,
only fingertips tracing my spine.
I cannot see you,
only eyes adjusting to the moon.
I cannot taste you,
only coppery sweetness.
I cannot hear you,
only my name whispered.
We let you in again,
knowing what havoc you wreak,
not caring about the damages.
Maybe this time things will change.
We are different people now.
We have learned our lessons.
We will not be burned again.
We long to drown in you.
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Aug. 14th, 2009 @ 12:45 am Villanelle
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.
A sentiment the broken-hearted hold.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.

How long you wept. "It takes a year or two
to thaw your love. Remove it from the cold.
Time heals your wounds." That's what it's meant to do.

The shoulder of a friend will see you through.
Clichés give you the strength to become bold.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.

Draw from your inner self, be someone new.
Don't wait to find your joy 'cause you've been told
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.

Consider boxed advice given to you.
If when you open them you would unfold
a pity, then the sentiment's not true.

Time does one thing, it makes a person who
needs not empty words awash with mold.
Time heals your wounds, that's what it's meant to do.
A pity then, the sentiment's not true.
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Aug. 13th, 2009 @ 02:51 am A week of poetry begins. Tonight, the sestina.
Come with me and let us look at stars.
We'll talk to stave off sleep.
Perhaps luck will be with us and we will see one fall,
hurtling towards the earth, a hundred sixty thousand miles per hour.
We'll leave the radio on if you don't want to talk.
Don't listen to the voice in your head saying no.

There was a time when you would never answer no.
Our possibilities as numberless as stars.
But then you said "We need to talk."
You couldn't stand to lose any more sleep
pondering what you'd say, wondering the best hour
to let the hammer fall.

It didn't happen overnight. We let each other fall
by the wayside. We spent no
time for one another. Just one hour
each day could have kept the stars
in our eyes. We could have taken it from our sleep.
We could have shown our love through actions, not just talk.

It still hurts to see you. We can't talk
like we used to, letting words fall
out our mouths. Our old desires sleep.
Or lurk. We have to tell them no.
We shouldn't lay under the stars
and ignore the hour.

We can't pretend this is some long-forgotten hour
where the last thing on our minds was talk.
The freckles on your back were my constellations, my stars.
I navigated them when we would fall
into bed. I never told you no.
Together, intertwining limbs, we'd sleep.

Without you, all I want to do is sleep.
I long to dream just one more hour.
None of this would haven happened had you said no
the first time I approached you to talk.
Somehow, we let our defenses fall.
It's a shame we couldn't read our fate in the stars.

An hour may feel like no time at all when we talk,
but everything ends. What stands will always fall.
All things someday sleep, even stars.
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Mar. 21st, 2009 @ 09:35 am (no subject)
Edward opens the door and we follow him in. It's a small room, sorry, cell. As long as I call things what they are, I can still hold onto these last few shreds of dignity. It's bare, the lights reflecting harshly off the white walls and floor. White. Edward's always joking like that. My eyes adjust and I make out what's cowering in the corner.

Shit.

It's Liz, Marko, and Jon. Please don't recognize me. Oh, God, don't let them know it's me.

They look up. Marko is lit up with frustration, his eyes darting over the four of us, leaving daggers with his gaze. His eyes meet mine, but they're blinded with hate. He doesn't see my face beneath the scars, beneath the mask. Jon sits serenely, lotus position, like always. He barely registers our presence. His eyes close and his head bows as soon as he notices.

Liz stares at Edward. He's the only one not wearing a mask. He's the only one who really is the monster he portrays. She starts to speak, her tongue loosing a syllable, but then she takes in the 3 other men in robes. Fel and Sik just stare ahead, waiting for orders. Or trouble. I try to do the same. But I'm glancing over my friends for damage, trying to see how much they've suffered at the hands of my new friends. She must have seen that I was different. That I wasn't a stone block. She stands up. Fel reaches to his belt, but Edward moves his hand just so, just enough to calm Fel down.

Liz cocks her head to the side. I know she's starting to notice me. I know she's going to recognize my chin, my teeth, my ears. Something will give me away. She takes a step forward.

If Edward doesn't know we're connected, he'll put it together and I'll be caught in a lie. If he does know we're connected, then he's playing a game and my life depends on winning it.

Liz takes another step, this time I can tell she's headed toward me. Another step. Her brow furrows. "Adrial? Is that you?"

When she gets to me, she'll rip off my mask. Really, he has nothing to lose. If I am not Adrial, we will kill her, but she probably realizes she's going to die here no matter what. If I am Adrial, she's hoping that I'll save her. That I'll drop the act and save everyone. But I'm not ready for that. There's still so much I don't know about земля под паром.

"I knew you would save us. Marko said you betrayed us. He swore it was you in London," Her voice wavers, probably remembering the figure waving his hand on the window. It was me, for the record. I did betray them, but I had to. I knew what I was doing.

Edward's lips slide into a cold smile. Good. He knows I know them. He knows I worked with them against him. He knows I'm a traitor.

She steps forward again, this time cutting her stride short. If I am Adrial, I would have shouted out, pulled out my dagger and killed Edward. Marko would fight Fel, and Jon would take care of Sik. We'd run out of this cursed house and fly home. I'd explain why I infiltrated the cult, why I used them as my entrance ticket. They would forgive me when they saw how much good it did. We were all willing to sacrifice our lives to stop земля под паром, though we never really expected we would have to. But right now, in this room, so close to the end of it all, I am not Adrial. I cannot be Adrial.

My hand flashes to the dagger on my belt. My fingers clasp around the hilt, the obsidian blade sucks some of the light out of the room. Liz smiles. Why do you have to smile? Her eyes go to Edward. She doesn't see the dagger plunge into her throat.
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Mar. 16th, 2009 @ 08:57 pm (no subject)
Guess what I got back today?
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Nov. 9th, 2008 @ 12:49 am (no subject)
I lost my internet connection.
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Oct. 21st, 2008 @ 07:48 pm (no subject)
Everyone knows that Bill Hickok died with a pair of aces and eights. What they don't know is that he had the highest hand at the table.
"Your raise," Jon nodded in my direction.
"His body's not even cold yet and you wanna keep playing?" Chris spoke up. An honest and forthright fellow, he was considered by some to be the moral backbone of the camp.
"I ain't denying that Bill's dead. But I also ain't denying that we got twenty dollars on this table that one of us is going to walk away with," Jon sneered. "We all started this, but only four of us are gonna finish."
Now, I pride myself on following the rules, but I never heard of someone dropping dead at the table. I mulled the situation over in my head and gave my opinion. "I say we finish the hand. None of us have seen what he's holding, so we'll just give him his last card and pretend like he's all in."
"Sounds fair to me" Zac muttered. I think they were the first words out of his mouth that game.
"So raise," Jon snapped. Just between me and you, I'd rather be facing down an Cheyenne than a preacher playing cards. But Jon's money is just as good as anyone else's, though he takes it from the collection plate.




It's not done, I just want to get some down since I am leaving and won't use the internet again tonight maybe.
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Oct. 20th, 2008 @ 11:24 pm (no subject)
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I only had internet for 10 minutes tonight. So I am not able to put up the second of the writing exercises, specifically, Zac's. However! To show that I am thinking about it, I will give a small excerpt.


Everyone knows that Bill Hickok died with a pair of aces and eights. What they don't know is that he had the highest hand at the table. Now, you may not be a card player, but the rules don't cover a man getting shot in the back while there's twenty-two dollars on the table. There were 5 of us playing. Four, if you don't count the dead man. Myself, Zacary, Jonathan, and Chris.

I hope to encourage anyone who wants to kick start my creativity to do it. I figure if I can write a poem with a bunch of x-words, there's nothing I can't do. Is that just asking for trouble?
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Oct. 19th, 2008 @ 09:15 pm (no subject)
Horror Comedy.
Every word has the letter x in it.
Courtesy of Xirax. It will be a poem.

Terrible horror film

Sexy fox coaxes buxom pixie Xenia.
Onyx codex, Toxic texts...
Vexing nexus, maximum hexes. Axman exits nexus.
Sexy fox redux. Faux sex.
Six axes. Six boxes.
Nexus waxes! Fix nexus?
Fox axed. Sexy minx exits. Ex-vixen.
Nexus taxes, poxes.
Axman jeux.
Xenia-axman-apex!
Climax: Xenia jinxes axman, exerts moxie, exiles axman, nexus exeunt.
Faux codex?! Xenia taxis Texas.
Oxen.


That's the first one. It's not perfect. Jennie read it and gave a suggestion. And wouldn't you know, it was much better than what I had down. We are a TEAM.
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