SoullessSylph

The children had never seen a monster before. They'd heard the stories, of course. It was impossible to live in the City of Always Nightfall without having huge, cavernous dreams about the bone-pile it digs its roots into. It was a very big and bloody bone-pile, the one crunching underneath Singing City. There was Glum Rradung, the bulge-eyed sewer-midget who slithered out of water-closets and gulped down children wandering about in the dark. There was Ingalin, the hungrymind which spontaneously formed out of clutter and garbage. There was the Very Practical Man, whose face was just an enormous nose and an even bigger grin, a demon who, the

               I have no face. There was a time when I may have owned one, but this is a fuzzy half-memory. In fact, it may be entirely an invention of fantasy. These days, regardless of my history, I know for a fact that I have no face. However, I have been granted a name: The American Obesity Problem. And I am growing in the United States. You may have seen me on television. You may have been witness to my disconcerting back cleavage and mystified by the seamless transition my legs make from my calves into my ankles. You probably saw my unsettlingly large, shelf-like behind as it strained against my tight Capri pants that I swore I would fi

'We need never shout across the spaces to an absent God. He is nearer than our own soul, closer than our most secret thoughts.' -"The Pursuit of God" by A.W.Tozer *~*~*~* Her fingers don't trail across the spine of her Bible the way that they used to. After the wedding, it was the most amazing year long honeymoon until Sonya's father passed away. No, they hadn't been close, but somehow it rocked her boat so horribly that even her comfort zone was uncomfortable to remain in. Arms wrapped around herself; she hid within a darkened corner and rocked herself back and forth until she calmed down only to stand up in a rage and scream until her lu

the familiar wailing of a saxophone on a side street on a rainy day. the last building on the left, with a heavy wooden door... and no windows. words... walls of concrete covered in concrete words that mean absolutely nothing. pedestrians walk up and down the street and partake in the exchange of distant glances with approaching people. solitude... among the myriad of cold raindrops.

[This poem has been removed as it lacks the emotional and verbal depth to be a real poem. When submitting please remember that a real poet is an outcast and eccentric, with real emotional trauma, and lacking these qualities nothing the submitter writes can ever be considered a poem. If you wish to re-submit your work, please follow these guidelines:  -o-  Please remove all instances of self-depreciation and any words that clearly allude to pain. These are "emo" and therefore not real poetry.  -o-  Please do not write about love if under the age of twenty-one, as an adolescent obviously knows nothing about such an adult emotion.  -o-  

My greatest fear, Is not to die But to disappear.

Your lips move, uttering words that your empty eyes would consume to the void.

Gasp in.  Hear nothing but the pounding of my heart.  Feel nothing but the pulses beating through my body.  The rhythm and the flow feel like electric shocks surging through my body.  It seems endless, repeating over and over.  Chills run through my body, yet I'm hot on fire.  I feel the flames inside of me, pounding on my chest to be released with passion.  My sweat is heavy, but I don't care.  Panting, moving, panting, grinding.  I see no one around me; I am oblivious.  My body aches, tired.  But I can't stop, not now.  Just when I think I'm finished, I realize I have only begun.