[x]

The Tails of Falling StarsShe was awestruck by the backs of moons that were
too far away to see with her unaided ocean eyes;
her petal fingers lace around the necks of stars.

Tracing their distant narrative, she becomes
an oracle, picking at Castor and Pollux;
the innards of sacrificial lamb becoming
the threshold of her prophetic quasar.

Always in search for the answers
that remain as churning syllables,
rotting at the bottom of her myrtle lungs.

She harvests the tree-branch limbs of galaxies,
to appraise the fruits of fate;
calculating the depths of nebulae, nuances of flesh.
She remembers how she grew to fear space.

This Conversation Took Eons "I can control you," he said, gravitational fingers lurching into my bouldered skin and pulling bits of me away.

I made it rain that day and killed three thousand and forty six people, just because I could.

"What is wrong with you?" his voice sank as the waters became weighted with people. He pulled the tides higher and washed the visible pain into the form of debris.

"They'll never forget though," I used the stars to point out my flaws and my current disaster, "because they're dead."

"Why do you do that?"

"What's wrong with me?" I asked innocently, stirring up another hurricane with my pinky.

It was all some sort of amusement to

Affliction of GravityWe were spinning in a violent orbit,
fragments against a time continuum,
with the shock signals of past events
coursing through our brain waves
and hovering away into unwanted space.

Your spiral fingers clutched twenty-two street lights,
coalescing them into supernovae
to gather their unseen veils of jade.

Our feet, skittering across the worn concrete,
were blazing a new trail of the universe.
The pale glass panels of the skyscrapers
showered down small meteorites,
illumination for our blind and careless eyes.

We'd point to buildings that grazed each star
off sideways perches made from skeleton clouds;
then I'd trill my laugh o

EchoesShe echoes inside.

Her loneliness leaving her barren and cold,
Her fingertips so bloodied and broken.
She had tried to climb out,
But to no avail.
Her love lay on the earth beside her,
As her tears,
Echoed.

Her eyes are chiseled out stars,
trails of gold carve into green;
wobbly curses splatter the walls
She tries to get out,
She tries to get out.
"Don't leave me," he says
as whispers
Echo.

Trickling water resounds around them,
Its pattering going slower, and slower,
Pounding deep within her.
Her eyes, like chocolate melt with tears,
And as they flow she is immersed in nothingness.
Darkness is her friend,
Her weakness,

Chameleon Smiles "I always wanted matching straight jackets," she said, pressing her minuscule fingertips against the bent backs of dandelions and clovers. I only managed to blink back the laughter because even though she smiled lovingly at the sky, her eyes said "sometimes-I-think-I-belong-in-one."

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, leaning back onto the blanket of sun-worn grass.

She pouts with her all ready withered twenty two year old lips, "I'm not being ridiculous."

I smile and close my eyes as her innocence laden voice rambles on about why the sky really turns black--she is adamant that it's because a monster-star swallows up all the colours then spi

Fractured WingsI bandaged my wings in discarded cocoons,
and pasted sparrow feathers on my arms,
in hopes they would last until the dawn.

Fallen angels don't have to work too hard
To break down your hopes or to
tear off your useless wings
After you were done with the surgery
After I've stitched myself together.

I knew I'd never be the same again,
as hand-sewn angels who tumble
trying to grasp at the sunrise,
don't have very long to live.

I never meant to fall apart
Or tear you down with me
There's no more darkness in the light
No more time left to fight;
It's time to say goodbye.

Burgundy Heart and Glass LungsMy fingertips are pressed against the inky folds of your sky
but you were colorless when I met you.
Troubled moons become hung over
on the pot-bellied lies you once condoned.
We watched it rise over the skies;
you painted in deep glasses of burgundy.

Once I asked you,
"Why burgundy?"
and you answered with a rare smile and,
"Because it reminds me of you."
And then I wondered why I
should be remembered at all.

Sometimes you would look at me
and smile one of those quirky
you-don't-know-what-I'm-thinking
smiles
and I would return the glance
and reply with a
I-love-you-forever-and-a-day
and-I-wish-you-love-me-too
smile.

We to

Edible EscapadesTiger stripes
are blossoming
beneath his skin;
eyes painted moss,
and layered with
backsides of leaves.
Hands slathered mahogany
slink beneath
a film of twigs,
grappling his despondent
don't fight, flight mechanism.

Following
the path of forgotten
painted-on footprints.
Eyes,
replaced with
leaves and
dirt colored
warpaint.
This is not what I envisioned.

Inaudible commands
braid together
on nets of spider-silk,
while wading through
a wave of lianas.

When silent screams
are not
louder than
our whispered cries.
We hide,
still unable
to see
or be
seen.

We're connected
by elastic bands;
tied about
our wrists.

Origami DependenceWe've paved our relationship with molten brick;
then tied our fingers against thunderstruck trees
while prudent street dogs spat selfish lyrics
and served lightly-salted soliloquies.

I cried starshine into your emerald arms,
so you could become the meaningful whisper I'll never hear.
I fell for faithless, plastic charms
in rooms that smelled like smoke, white oak and beer.

Our hearts became rocket ships tied to ribbons,
one crawling on an overstuffed belly; always too far behind
like the sons and daughters of Elias Fitzgibbons
who said we would wed us on Tuesday, that holy bind.

Wicked felt-tipped pens, forging "I love yous."
wer

Inebriating to Remember LoveI used to head down
to the pub on main.

We'd meet up; we'd watch
the game through
the snow on the screen.
Decipher lisped play-by-plays
and sometimes, decipher wrong.

As I swished the ale around
my sweating glass, he'd walk in.

5:22 p.m -- his late-at-night;
eyes half alive and his life, half dead.

A shuffled symphony,
while finding his never-usual seat.
Skyscrapers douse
his shoulders with doubt
as the news manages to cut in.

There, he'd order his usual;
whiskey, its warmth, a foil
to his lethargy.

Despite seeing him
on all the occasions of my visits,
I observe him;
each time he arrives,
in between football plays
and

I Have Hope I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have to remember to breathe every time those words come, I don’t want to believe it. I still can’t believe it. I remember the first time my counselor looked at me and told me that my depression and anxiety might be something more. Great, I thought, What could possibly be worse than this?

Firstly, PTSD is not a disorder that only affects our war heroes, though that is what it’s commonly associated with. My own first thoughts were: “isn’t that a disorder for war veterans or someone who witnessed war first-hand?“ The truth is there are many causes for Post Traumatic Stress

Gondwana and LaurasiaI am Pangaea;
you are gravity and tectonics
(but not entirely the push and pull
of the force that assembled me).

You pulled me apart for all
the world to see and
all the scientists to marvel at.

I no longer resemble the beginning.

All you have to remember
me by is a hypothetical map
of a conjectural being.

You have pulled my limbs apart,
stretched me far across the ocean
so that I'll never be
quite the same.

I was an island.
I was Pangaea.

I am whole
and I am pieces that don't
quite match but still fit,
like sawed off arms of
jigsaw pieces.

You are whole.
I was the compass directing you
to my last-chance moment or
c

Love dA Lit: Issue 55Welcome to the fifty-fifth issue of my weekly news article, Love dA Lit!

Every Sunday this news article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests, interviewing various members of the literature community and spotlighting a specific group every week. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.
#LITplease's Community Portal
Literature Links

#ScreamPrompts is back for December and has a new prompt!

*beeinthebottle has created new group with "a drama-free, llama-free zone for fame-worthy literature written by grown-ups—and not-so-very-grown-ups!—of any age:" :

Makeshift SymphonyHe tied piano strings to his heart,
so that every time it beat
it didn't sound so empty inside.

But the music in his heart
couldn’t permeate the hollow air
as the metronome kept time for the clock.
One, two. One, two.

Reedy notes plummeted from his lips as
he made me pluck out Tchaikovsky and Bach
when all I wanted to play was twinkletwinklelittlestar.
"I'm just a little girl."

My fingers tripped and stumbled
and I know that I could never play
as well as he needed me to;
I could never keep his notes
from slipping off the page.

White and black sideswiped my fingers,
as I struck one chord too many.
"I've always wanted to

Snapping Your StrawbonesThe incessant clobbering against mirror-lined ribs,
glazes over the sound of her sighs;
he becomes wedged between her glassy collar bone,
fingers tearing into dissipative skin.

Her collarbone is an exhibit to him,
his fingers tracing patterns over it;
he is tearing out her soul.
Then the pain begins.
She is baffled by why she enjoys this.

Grating murmurs strangle her ears
as he discreetly takes each column of her coiled spine.
Serpentine words dangle from his jackal lips:
"I'm only snapping your strawbones, my dearest."

"Those lips could tell a thousand lies,"
She whispers under his ruffled hair.
"You truly wouldn't treat anyo

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 3.5 KB more ▶

More from `IrrevocableFate

I Am Afraid Of My Own VoiceYou are an entire universe full of stars;
tiny droplets of light,
that integrate to become a part of me.

You inflate my heart,
it was made of paper but now
reminds me of odd-shaped balloons,
to sizes that can not be measured.

I've tried to count the reasons.
that I l-o-v-e you.
But come up short to a million every time.

I am always reminded of your love,
(As if I'd let myself forget.)
Your smile serves as my Polaris:

Ribbons are fastened about my tongue;
I am more than flabbergasted
because there's a part of you in every word.

I Dont Dot My I's With Hearts Loving you is like trying to accept the taste of aftershave in your mouth when you accidentally take a swig of it instead of the hidden vodka.

You manage to choke back the tears as it slides down your throat, fingers groping the sink while you debate to dial 911 or take a few more sips. The vine-like liquid has only begun to initiate contact with the part of your brain that says itmightbetoolate. Your eyes stagger to the bottle you had wanted to drain a moment ago--it was empty anyways. Fuck.

Fear gets the better of you as your newborn legs manage to ground themselves in front of your cellphone and your fingers dance across the keypad. Yo

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: August 30, 2009
File Size: 3.5 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 130
Favourites: 27 [who?]
Views: 1,058 (0 today)
Downloads: 10 (0 today)

[x]

We Will Never Be Perfect

by `IrrevocableFate, Aug 30, 2009, 9:52:33 AM
Contests / 2009 / From Scripts to Flicks / Scripts / Screenplay

A dilapidated, small house--a single light is on inside, barely illuminating the silhouettes of hunched over figures. DANIEL, a some-what well-dressed man is at the door, obviously out of place with his ragged surroundings. He seems fidgety and agitated. Someone opens the door on the inside; Daniel walks in.

A woman, NICOLE, is smoking something indistinguishable while sitting next to an open window. Two people are sitting off in a corner, another is strewn about in the hallway. Two others can be heard giggling in an adjacent room, just out of sight. Daniel stands in the door way and looks down the hall to Nicole, she is close enough to speak too.

DANIEL
"Sometimes, I know you don't love me."
(He flashes her an insincere smile as he begins to walk towards her.)

NICOLE
“You aren't always faithful yourself.” (She pauses.) “Just ask your wife about Cheryl or Lauren.”

DANIEL
"They were a mistake."

NICOLE
"Coming here to see me isn't?"

DANIEL
"Why can't you just thank me for once?"

NICOLE
"I didn't ask you to come get me."

DANIEL
"Of course. You want something from me."

NICOLE
"I don't need anything from you, I don't want anything from you."

DANIEL
"You sounded pretty desperate on the phone."

NICOLE
(She glares at him, then looks away abruptly with a hint of shame.)
"I don't need anything from you."

(Daniel steps over the person in the hallway, effectively brining him into the room with Nicole. He takes a few steps and is standing in front of her chair. Nicole looks at him nonchalantly and continues to smoke.)

DANIEL
"What is it this time?"

NICOLE
“Since when have you ever cared?”

DANIEL
(He looks at her, the anger in his face has since drained away.)
“I’ve always cared, you just never wanted me to.”

NICOLE
“Shut up” (She gets up and tries to push Daniel, with one hand--it looks as if she's only placed a hand on his shoulder.) “You don‘t know anything. I can take care of myself.” (She sits back down slightly flustered.)

DANIEL
“Then what are you doing here?”

NICOLE
"Living my life. How I want to..." (She pauses.) "And without you looking over my shoulder."

DANIEL
(He looks angry.)
"Look at you." (He takes the cigarette from her hand and promptly tosses it out the window.) "Look what you've done to yourself."

NICOLE
(She gets up and clutches at his shirt in a threatening manner but makes sure to avoid eye contact. Daniel looks over her arms and face and begins to look overwhelmingly sad.)

DANIEL
"Nicole." (He pauses for a moment.) "What have they done to you?"

NICOLE
"I wish we were ten again, Daniel."

DANIEL
"I know." (He gently hugs her and they remain in this embrace.) "I know, baby sister. I know."

130 Comments

From Scripts to Flicks

View Winners Browse Entries

We Will Never Be Perfectby `IrrevocableFate

Contests / 2009 / From Scripts to Flicks / Scripts / Screenplay

For From Scripts to Flicks.

(One day before the deadline, look at me being a Procrastination Queen!)

This was a short-story that's been sitting in my wordpad, nearly finished and I did say I would try and enter this contest (I put that story in scraps--is that allowed?).
Short-story version.

I've never written a screenplay before. Is it too long? Is everything clear? Too hard to follow? Too much direction? I'd really like pointers if possible.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

love 3 3

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~EatingMyOwnFears Sep 14, 2009

Absolutely Fabulous!!

`IrrevocableFate Sep 14, 2009 Writer

Thanks os much sweetie!

~EatingMyOwnFears Sep 14, 2009

good luck on the contest!

`IrrevocableFate Sep 14, 2009 Writer

Aw, thanks sweetie. <3

~EatingMyOwnFears Sep 14, 2009

!Moon-and-Ash Sep 9, 2009

I think it's a testament to your skilful use of dialogue; a sense of things being said aren't what you're actually hearing; that the scene, the concept, is illuminated.

I did find, though, that the opening didn't offer the visuals that would have supported the conversation occurring. You could have stronger, more poignant images (maybe specifics - what details make the house dilapidated, what is it about Daniel's clothing that marks him as an outsider?).

Way to experiment though, that's brave. And it's a great piece. I'm inspired. And curious.

`IrrevocableFate Sep 10, 2009 Writer

Oh my. Thank you so much hun. It was certainly challenging and I wish I could have had more time to incorporate a few more piece of dialogue in there but that's what I get for procrastinating!

Hmm, true I could have added more to the opening to give more of a solid visual oomph to the surroundings. Certainly next time I will take that into consideration!

Yes!

Aw thanks dear. <3 Oh! Inspired! That's wonderful.

!Moon-and-Ash Sep 11, 2009

Awwww, I haven't the FIRST idea about screenplay/script-writing, so it was all just gut and fluff I spewed.

It really is fabulous! You're SO welcome! I can't wait for the next one!

`IrrevocableFate Sep 13, 2009 Writer

Well I didn't when I wrote this, I mean I looked a few things up to makes sure it was all right but other than that I just went with what I thought was right. Awww.

I'm sure it wasn't too bad. (:

Aw, thank you hun!

!Moon-and-Ash Sep 14, 2009

More from `IrrevocableFate

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

We Will Never Be Perfect

From Scripts to Flicks

We Will Never Be Perfectby `IrrevocableFate

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style