GildedRose

As I imagine, This is the end. What of? Of a helpless feeling of naivety; Of passion that I once thought I felt, But now spills out through a song? It's something I imagine I felt As a budding bloom, Young and insignificant Until a bee touches it in it's first instant of life. What can I say? That it was perfect? Complete? That it is now a pain in my eyes Until I see it one last time? It's just that I can't imagine myself seeing that so clearly ever again. It is a plateau made of sponge, Gin and sweet smells from a jar of fresh nectars.   I stand upon it as it sinks and degrades. It's not a simple structure anymore. So I s

I sit here, Bent over into a bow; I have been moulded, Fired, & Set.   I cannot even move my hands to hide my face!    It is the effects of acid rain that make me look like I am dropping Tears   I cannot straighten my legs to stand and face away! My tears are full of thick green moss, And since maintenance is off sick   A bird is persistently crapping on my right shoulder I just cannot lift my face to look fate in the eye; Nor hear this sentence given to me indefinitely    Oh! That faceless, voiceless judge!! What I do, to be precise; Is sit here  My hands on my knees   And only one given choice to accompany my lone

I've been here before. The memory of. I've seen this before. The site of. I've heard this before. The sound of. It's here, This light, Sounds of greenness, The ripe of the purpleness. It sparkles, this, The water, The feel of This touch Of soft, Of shining gold, Of streaming light, The trickle of sound in my ears like pure and purposeful liquid. I could sing of this. I could lift my voice and chant of this. Won't you look upon this? Of sad? Of happy? Of movement? Of rest? My mind is of this. My senses know the spirit of this. This simple... This strong... ...Of this I see Of this Of This.

the flashing blue and red, like electricity and blood, are the intense and long forgotten, feared bolt that send the pupil cracking from the inside. from this, like a hazel-green yolk, spills the iris, coating the purl whites flooding the pulsing vanes suffocating and severing the light. the socket erupts. tears of salt of sea take suicide falling from the lashes. they role dead. sad. making the curve of the cheekbones, the softness of the skin. filling the cracks and crevices of the dry. fleshless. bloodless lips. then. a deep vibration. unbalanced. wavering like a blooded rag on the tip of a sword in the we

Scene 1: On the Train. 3 men sitting on a train. (This will mean 3 chairs arranged center stage). The man on the left is Russian, dressed in a fur coat and a fur hat. The man on the right is reading a news paper, wearing a black trench coat, army boots, blue jeans and a purple shirt. He is wearing a pendant around his neck, symbolizing peace. The man in between the two is English and wears a cheap blue suit. The Englishman begins talking to the Russian (who is looking increasingly nervous, because he speaks no English). The Englishman starts a civil conversation ("Hi... I'm waiting for my girlfriend...Beautiful day isn't it?") Which turns

"Here we are", She said, taking their smiles and putting them in her pocket. She left them there, singing to emphasise in the unidentified light. The purple background swallowed them and they laughed to see it shine. Where were they? Neither knew exactly, but they understood that there was nothing their to live for so they must have been somewhere in the middle of dead and alive. They shared a kiss for each other and divided it. They kept a piece of their happiness, stuffing it in the duffel bag that they carried along with them. Stars shone and music sounded through the purple mist as lights faded out. It sounded familiar and pleasant to th