PatriotI burned the bridge with the fire I stole from the torchbearer He never noticed and kept his steady pace down Main Street America His bared body shone with foreign soil tears of hopelessness A battle was being fought, in that dune-dusted desert he came from A contradiction holy war between men who should be brothers After stealing his fire I was obligated to trace his steps backwards And that’s how I came across the span of concrete pillars and painted asphalt Bonding artificially the desperate society of ticking human time bombs To a place of lost starved souls zombified by distraction OuPatriot
Final Project Rough DraftHe wore a mask, white with a heavy spiral of red spinning from his ear to his nose. She wasn’t even sure he was human, the way he was silhouetted, crouching on her windowsill. All she could see was that mask. And the streak of blood along the side of his neck.Final Project Rough Draft
A streetlamp flickered out behind him. Somewhere closer to downtown, a siren howled in lament. Maurine imagined that she’d be waking up soon, and the sheets would be chilly because she’d forgotten to latch the window again. Maybe this time the cheap TV with fuzzy reception would be gone instead of her purse, and maybe she’d finally pay for better locks. He was still
InvisibilityI’m up late again, but this time I’m not wrapped in pajamas. The room is quiet as I sit on the edge of my bed, squinting at the hands of my watch and waiting for the angle of the hours to point me in the right direction. My socks make soft sounds, as they brush against the carpeting on the way downstairs. I grab my butterfly bag from the table next to the frog lamp and tip-toe through the kitchen. My coat’s on the rack and in the dead of night it’s hard to slip it off the hook without letting it rustle. I almost lose my keys—I have to fish through my pockets, my purse, and finally the hole in the lining of my coat before I find them, clenchinInvisibility
FlapperA jade cigarette holder rolled across the carpet. “Would you be a dear and pick that up for me,” Rosalind drawled from behind the dressing screen. A skinny hand wagged wagged delicate fingers at Timothy, who scrambled to knock the smoking holder away from the dragging drapes. With the precision of someone bearing a monarch’s crown, he delivered it back to Rosalind. She twirled out into the center of the apartment. The fringe of her skirt brushed against the young man’s hand before falling to a risqué point just above her knees. She paused and doubled over to peer into a small mirror propped against her makeup case. Cigarette holdeFlapper
Fucking Final Projects for Fourteen
~Minnesotans
I think you should join.
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Life is too deep for words, so don't try to describe it, just live it. ~ C.S. Lewis
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Life is too deep for words, so don't try to describe it, just live it. ~ C.S. Lewis
keep in touch girllll
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All these people drinkin' lovers spit,
they sit around & clean their face wtih it.
You on aim at all?
I like you a lot. Thanks for the fave.
-Katie
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...I used to have a great body: but they made me take it back to the morgue...
thanks so much for the fav!!!
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the truth dose more harm then it dose good..."
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