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Ignite me and burn me bright.It's Sunday afternoon.
The car slides smooth along the road like our hands did to our skin,
They mumble in the front seat while
I alone in the back seat remember you,
Oh, do I remember yesterday.
I'm shivering and shaking and my teeth chattering,
But fire creeps up and down my lonely body,
Soothing the trembling bones and the shriveled skin,
When I remember
The breathtaking shattering of anticipation,
When our lips finally collided, a collision of ice and fire,
One pleading for warmth and one screaming for cold,
Desperate to be the only thing the other ever needs to hold.
When I remember
The way our bodies shook against each oth

SILENCECSS made by `BloodPromiser
I cannot speak,
just think
I cannot say
Just pray for today
I wish I could do something
to prevent this unending decay
Where all I can do is silently lay.
Screaming and no one can hear
Crying but no one is near
Laughing, no one is there to share
It seems, no one has a care
Desperation, I scream out
In pain, I shout
but no one
is Listening

Moving On"It all seems to be in order. Let me just read your last file."

"Thank you."

"It says here you used to have a girlfriend who was raped whilst you were with her?"

"Er…yes."

"Did she love you?"

"Yes. More than I could handle, I suppose."

"According to your file you told her she wasn't the one, and that her overfamiliarity with men led her to be in this situation?"

"Er…yes? But it's not like I told her she deserved to be raped, it was more-"

"Just yes or no answers would do. Did you do anything prior to this incident to make this girl feel loved?"

"Yes… I didn't cheat. I think that's enough for any relationship."

"It als

Frozen in the immortal crystals of nothingYou sang to me with your eyes, and with a smile
you opened up my heart
Never in my frantic dreams could I recall a vision
as beautiful as you.

We had grown to where we didn't cry at all
(we felt numb)
but comforted ourselves in our own minds

I tried to block it out, but it was no use
(I was what I was)
yet I survived in the knowledge that I couldn't save
us both

(who was I to decide who
was to live and die?
forbidden love, willingly sent)

Lustily we moaned each others names
torturing our hearts with silly games

Swimming within the pools of his eyes revealing
where his passion lied

In the soft moonlight we met; arms reaching,

i'm tired so let me be brokenshe's crying in the corner again
headphones blasting angry lyrics
to drown out everyone else around her
memories are flooding back
things hardly anyone understands

depression is such a monster
it clings to her like a leech
she's scared she'll never be rid of it
but she keeps up the fake smiles and laughter
because the facade is so much easier

she's watched so many she loves
be dropped into the ground
like the petals you pull off daisies
asking if he/she loves you or not
(how often has that answer been not?)

verbal scars still cling to her ears
and remain fresh in her mind
'go kill yourself!' 'you're worthless!'
taunting her

Your VoiceI heard your voice inside my head,
And suddenly I sat up in bed,
Was that you who called for me,
Or was that voice just a dream?

Breathing deep, I listen hard,
If you're here, you're not far,
I want you here with me so bad,
Because the thought of you makes me sad.

A brush of wind, a small, light touch,
Sweet memory that I love so much,
I broke my binds and fell free,
But I still feel useless, not me.

Lying back, I close my eyes,
And think of a time where no one dies,
You'd be here with me in bed,
Not lying in a coffin playing dead.

My lovely boy, gone for good,
You'd be here if you could,
And so I fight to stay alive,
Becau

A Standing OvationKristóf sat at the far left of the front row of red seats in the auditorium. He nervously shifted as his head teacher, standing on stage, proudly introduced the prodigious talent embodied in Kristóf Benedek, the eighteen year old hailing from Hatvan, able to play the most beautiful piano concertos ever composed, blinding the audience this evening with his rousing rendition of Claude Debussy's beautiful masterpiece 'Clair de Lune'.

Kris tried to ignore the pressure being piled onto him. The end of year school variety show was a formality, but he was still nervous nevertheless. He had asked his music teacher to record his performance

Wrist Freshman year of high school I had a friend who talked about killing herself, cutting herself, hating herself. I never quite understood the trauma or her family situation, but when I faced by own teenage turmoil she was the only example I had.

She was the only one who seemed to know how to handle the situation.

One day my father came up behind me as I was washing dishes, placed his hands on my stomach tight and kissed my neck with wet lips and an unruly beard. I only knew what movies and television fed me, only knew that teenagers are supposed to be confused and immature and meant do drastic things. After he left for work I took scissors

My mind is a scary place.

I lay in bed at night,
my eyes wide open.
I stare into the darkness,
feeling it wrap around me each night.

My body tells me to sleep,
but my mind tells me different.
My mind usually wins the war
and I begin to be consumed within it.

My sadness:
An emotion I know very well,
this chronic feeling never seems to leave.

The nightmares of my Dad's death,
The bullies hurtful words,
The questioning if my mom ever loved me.
The tears streaming down my already puffy eyes.

Sadness, will you ever leave?

My anger:
An emotion I am unfamiliar with,
and I cannot control too well.

The bullies laughing at my face,

6 Word EssayBelonging was never her leading role.

rapunzel, rapunzeli wanted to cut her open and see what her insides looked like, all beating simultaneously and vigorously, all frothing with life.
i think what made me want her the most was her hair. sometimes dirty, sometimes gold. but always silk. i watched it tag behind her that one sunday, like the sun, as she rode her bicycle past my house on speedy wheels.
good morning, Mr.Kettle.
i did not see more than a flash of Caroline Wise, but it was all i needed to make her my next. my chair called for her name; the chains hung with the remains of the old. i patted their cries and promised not too long.
---
the coming summer months brought a breeze of staying at home alone and TV time for Mr. Kettle. Mrs. Wise would leave the house at exactly nine o'clock every morning, i made sure of it, and i watched as Caroline watched the the telly and played silly games on the laptop. sometimes she would take to the pool, and she and her little structure would slip out in her shiny two-piece suit, swayi

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ScarringAt some point in my life I stopped posting pictures that included my left forearm. It wasn't one of those gradual things where eventually I noticed this to be the case and had to search my soul to figure out why.

I didn't need to figure it out. I knew. My left forearm is covered in scars, and scars are not acceptable anymore. I've grown up and left behind the things that made me sad -- or at least I've told myself that I have.

It could just be that I learned that sadness lasts forever when it's cut into your skin.

That's the thing about scars, though. If you're sad enough or angry enough or empty enough, you don't care about forever, until

12-21-12The Mayans said it first, but
tea leaves said it second, her palm
said it third, and the boy
down the road, the one with the blue,
blue eyes, said it fourth.

The world was going to end and she
could not be happier.

Her affairs were easy to arrange:
money sealed into envelopes,
the microwave unplugged, and one
last kiss for the blue-eyed boy.

She called her mother,
and her mother did not answer.
(But she did not expect her to.)

That evening she hid beneath
a blanket with her dog and told stories
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(but mostly the bad times, and how
now there would never have to be
bad times ever aga

neverlandi'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.

every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.

(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year

NPR three minute story submission She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. That low rumble had been Tom's temperamental engine; she was sure of it. The sound had tattooed itself on the inside of Anna's ears ages ago. Maybe he was sitting in the front seat of his car, trying to work up the courage to knock. Maybe his brows would knit together and his mouth would quirk and he would say, "I missed you, Sunshine," though he had never once called her by that nickname. Maybe she could apologize, and he would kiss the insides of her wrists, the back of her neck, her eyelids.
Yes, she could hear a car door opening. If she listened

the perfect strangershe misses colin the most at night, when, waking from nightmares, her hand reaches out into the darkness for someone who is no longer there.

-

an unexpected message flares briefly on her screen, long enough for her heart to drop into her stomach in surprise—her ex-boyfriend's little sister's ex-boyfriend? sighing, she types a hello and strains her memory to recall what she knows of this boy from their one brief meeting. his name is aaron. tall. shaggy bed-head hair. sleepy hazel eyes. she lightly touches the keyboard, entertaining the notion that other people might feel as lonely at night as she does.

"tell me a secret," she types to

numbit is two o' clock in the morning and i can't sleep. or i sleep too much. one of the two, and the pills make three. they stew and burn the back of my throat; the chemicals dissolve and form words.

the medical literature didn't say anything about that. or the numbness in my arms and legs. the tingling has crept up my right leg for the past week, weaving itself between my toes and nipping at the back of my knee. maybe it's a side effect, or maybe it's diabetes. or a blood clot. maybe my foot will need to be amputated, and i will have to hobble down the aisle for our wedding.

he coughs beside me, still fast asleep, and i touch one of his eyebr

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letting goby ~estallidos

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Visual & Found Poetry

©2012-2013 ~estallidos

i'm "putting away" my novel while readers go through it so that by the time they're done, i can really look at my words with fresh eyes.

in the meantime, i'm continuing to post the little poems that have been clogging up my three separate hard drives.

i am also about 5,000 words into another novel. [link]

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~nessah1986 Mar 1, 2012

wonderfully anguishing. I love it. keep it up, honey.

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~Athazagoraphobias Feb 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Its like you're in my head.

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~estallidos Feb 27, 2012 Professional Writer

if that is the case then i can only hope things get better for you soon.

thank you for the favorite <3

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~Sully-Bean Feb 24, 2012

So I read this and was all teary because it's wonderful and then I freaked out because I remembered YOUR NOVEL that EXISTS IN THE WORLD and then i saw that you were doing another and was all ready to break down and then I saw the AVPM gif which just about finished me off.

You're still my favourite poet ever.
And because of you I read the Great Gatsby, which was glorious.
Thank you so much. <3333

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~estallidos Feb 24, 2012 Professional Writer

you are too cute to exist. seriously. i want to trap you in a bottle and carry you around with me so that when i had a bad day you could cheer me up with your sunshine.
<333

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~Sully-Bean Feb 25, 2012

Oh my gosh, WHY THANK YOU!
[link]
<333
I am available for bottle trapping and sunshine spreading any time, by the way. :'D

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~estallidos Feb 25, 2012 Professional Writer

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~Sully-Bean Feb 25, 2012

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~estallidos Feb 25, 2012 Professional Writer

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~Sully-Bean Feb 25, 2012

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