| We, the people... |


Diction-- Word Choice.a friend calls out my name and betrays me to the world. I will cover my face, turn away... It is too late. The silence only covers those who have no hope. There are those like me haunted perpetually by sunrise, light. And there are those like you, who find the silence so conveniently disconcerting. We speak of words but not of meanings. Would it be better to "fall" or "divide"? Such decisions are... _____irrelevant? The word does not come to me. Need a face smile and frown at the world's pace? --as I turn a different hallway; today is not pre-determined-- Those arouDiction-- Word Choice.


The Peoplebare-foot splayed jeans, split ends weeds overtake the garden filled with little feet beads, broken plastic, litter and embellish. thorns worn down trampled to splinters the leaves, our currency; the branches, our hats, swords, brooms. civilization springs up a dictator from among the muddy faces a real of-the-people, baking pies with the dutchess. chickens, not the farm type peck at little toes, little feet disarray no order in the House no one follows the orders of their hysterical monarch led away, offended by broken skin leaves scatter &nThe People


Simple Dissent"But-- would you kill a killer?" she asked skeptically. His responses always startled her. The silence was so long, she started to lean forward to repeat herself. He turned before she could, raised his hand a little, in a questioning manner, not matching his emphatic response. "Yes." Followed by an inane laugh. Her grin showed easy disgust, intrigued though she was.Simple Dissent
"Are they not human, too?" "--They are. Too human." His eyes shifted lazily back to the road. But as she knew him, the conversation was not over. The silence was not a faltering silence. The driver had the intense look of an eavesdropper, though her comments would not


WingsI lied. And she knows it. Blowing a stray hair out of her eye, she pressed a foot against the floor; hoping to pent out a sudden panic through the dark tiling below. "Okay, Kate," incited the hag with a firm hand pressed against Kate's back-- right where her wings would be if her body should ever decide to grow some. She hated that hand, so unwelcomingly familiar there as though purposefully smothering her unborn wings. The woman studied her for a moment "--Kate?". Only her eyes quivered slightly. A sigh from the old lady. "You may say what you like. But when you figure out what really happened-- I'll be here. 'kay?" Please just move that hanWings


Possession-Possession
In my shed I keep a man by the name of Isaac. His nails are blue, his eyelids black from a game we played. He’s kneeling in a cobwebbed corner, teeth sinking through his lip, a grin tweaking at his cheeks, still red with rum. On his chin is balanced a golden moth. He’s staring through her beating wings at some other, sweetly-coloured world. At the window taps a haze of spring in thick blossom, and a carnival of birds at five AM. I don’t always come out this early. But his moans pulled at my skirt, and charmed my feet to creep into indigo,  
Carrie FMP
--
My Art Blog
--
How Much Wood Would A Wood Chuck Chuck If A Wood Chuck Could Chuck Norris?
--
*********
One man's vulgarity is another's lyric.
--
.___.
{O,o}
/)__)
-"-"- Owl.
--
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
--
Want to purchase the costumes/jewelry that you see in my gallery? Check out my Etsy shop, Sagas and Steam Co., at:
[link]
--
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
--
"Can't let the music stop. Can't let this feeling end."
--
My Gallery- [link]
My MySpace: [link]
Previous Page12345...Next Page