looneywizard

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Literature

Lollipops and Cigarettes

It's become that moment. That moment you never expected to happen. The moment in your life where things just fly by way too fast. Months and days turn into years and decades. Every day begins to be the same thing, another breath, another day, another meal and another car ride home. . Dreams lose meaning. Hopes fall away into broken pieces, and expectations get lost in the rest of the flow that life has stuck to. Far from you, but never too far away to make you miserable. You don't even realize its happening till you go through each day like a dream and then one day you wake up stuck in a bush of vines ripping through to your mind's concept o

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Lollipops and Cigarettes by ParallelOpposite, literature

Literature

Lollipops and Cigarettes

Reckless In A Black Dress by SoImStillUnsure, literature

Literature

Reckless In A Black Dress

She's the girl, in the parking lot of the liquor store. On her knees for some guy, because she's too young to go buy the vodka herself. She's the girl, kissing him on the cheek, with that cat-like smirk, Pocketing the bottle of poison, and turning an ivory skin back. She's the girl, pressing 100 miles an hour, with the star-kissed sky, and the city lights blurring as she speeds through the streets. She's the girl, showing up an hour late for her school dance. In that little black dress, that every guy wished was less, and every girl wished were handcuffs. She's the girl, coyly biting her lip, wryly smiling your way, p

Bittersweet by SoImStillUnsure, literature

Literature

Bittersweet

"Darling, what makes you love me?" The question is so simply stated, in her purple velvet voice, as she reclines in his strong arms, and lets the bittersweet smoke caress their limbs, pulling them closer together. His long inhale, as the toxins coat the soft tissue of his black lungs, is audible, as he mulls over the question before answering. "I love how you can make insanity look beautiful." He states, recreating the day he came home, in his mind. The day he found her telling stories to the static on the television. The day he started to question if his joking label of "crazy" may possibly ring true. "I love how I can tell when you're ha

Id rather by ParallelOpposite, literature

Literature

Id rather

I'd rather write you a story With a thousand clever thoughts Than to tell you Of every heartbreak My mind can fathom. ~~~ I'd rather paint you a picture Of a puddle of blood Than tell you Of the future that Will take me alive. ~~ I'd rather promise you Pretty thoughts And lies Than to tell you I won't be there to fulfill them. ~ I'd rather say I hate you And lie Than tell you I love you For every time You made me bleed.

The Calling Voice by SoImStillUnsure, literature

Literature

The Calling Voice

The fog, thick like Death's rattling breath, swirls around my limbs, tugging at my thin cotton dress, and pulling me blindly into the dark clouds' greedy arms. I can hardly see my own feet, padding bare across the sharp gravel, as it digs into my tender arches. Nothing is out here; no one wandering through the debilitating fog but me. My lungs start to throb, chest heaving, and my throat drying painfully, but I put one foot in front of the other, determined to find my way out. My chest gets tighter, and my lungs are burning, though I'm walking only leisurely. My throat screams, like a fire is burning through its scalding walls, and my lungs

Wii Would Like to Play by In-The-Machine, literature

Literature

Wii Would Like to Play

Little Susan B. stood staring at the thing before her in disbelief. "Fat," she said. "I'm fat?" "I'm a machine. Machines don't lie." "But I'm ten." "Ten and fat." "But how can you tell? There's gotta be some mistake." "Okay, kid, listen up. I've got your goddamn height and BMI right here. Right here inside me. And according to my records, you suck at boxing, you suck at running, your physical age is that of a 48-year-old male and you suck at Brawl." "Hey, you're being mean!" "I'm not mean. I'm a machine. Can't take playing with me? If you don't like it then take yourself somewhere else and maybe go and play with the other babies ou

my first kiss. by perfect-impurfektion, literature

Literature

my first kiss.

"wait, wait, wait. how does this go again?" i watched you. you were perched near the window, staring longingly out the window, like a bird, trapped in it's cage, wanting to spread it's wings and fly. soar into the wind and rain and lose yourself. you looked so... peaceful. i almost didn't want to disturb you, but i needed this.

candy wrapper love. by perfect-impurfektion, literature

Literature

candy wrapper love.

A box, bound in scarlet paper and wound in gold ribbon, sits on a shelf, ones just like it scattered through stores across the country. Pull back the lid, and you see an array of candies, each one wrapped lovingly in a different wrapper, and each revealing a center different from the last. There's the brightly wrapped ones, glittering enticingly, and catching your eye immediately. But there's also the darker ones, ones that aren't as pretty, or as captivating, ones that often escape notice. Eager fingers, pry out the candies, often choosing the showier ones, and descarding their wrappers in a rushed moment of haste, and hunger. They don't tak

The One With The Scars by SoImStillUnsure, literature

Literature

The One With The Scars

"Kay..." Her voice is soft and hesitant, a startling contrast to the pounding in my ears. "Kay, what are you doing?" I look up to see her peeking around the corner. Her blue eyes like marbles, that have been tossed across dust-kissed hardwood. Ivory skin, with fair blonde hair just a shade darker, framing her cheekbones. Petunia petal lips, bottom just a little bit larger, enough to look pouty; adorable - like the uncles called it. I could of thought of her as beautiful, with those perfect, fragile features. I could have. If I didn't have the same ones. I could have thought of her as my pretty sister, if I didn't look the same. She isn't be

Irrational Love by SoImStillUnsure, literature

Literature

Irrational Love

Tick tick tick. The hands of the of the clock perfectly mirror the sound of the grubby man gnawing at his fingernails behind the counter. "Joe." Reads his name card, partially smeared in ketchup. How delightfully cliché. I'm on a bar stool, cover partially torn off, at the counter of some nameless highway diner. The heat is stifling, and the coffee black as Joe's fingernail clippings. My backpack sighs, it's breath disappearing into the dry air, as it rests its head against the leg of my stool, and I order another coffee. The sludge sloshes against the paper cup, and I slug it down. I have nothing better to do. The highway I'm on is d

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