Writers-Slam

On sleepless nights I feed my insomnia with tales of my past. I retell the stories I've told many times before and dwell in the glow of my memories of glory. Bitter moments of hope, loss and sheer stubborness become flesh once again. Some call it the foolishness of the old and wrinkled, such as myself, but I can't seem to agree - I was a fool but once. That one time is locked away, caged deep beneath the bottom layers of subconsciousness, bound and shackled to a fate of infinite oblivion.

A Daily Deviation For Christmas This is the Story Of young Billy Barkis Only a boy, And wanted to be an artist He drew for his friends And they "Ooo-ed" and "Ahh-ed" Even a doodle Made his family go "Gaw" But he wanted artist friends But didn’t know where to start Until he stumbled upon A place called DeviantArt… Now It was a week before Christmas And Billy’s heart, it did sake He thought no one knew he was alive To be perfectly frank. He had posted a picture Full of sweat, blood, and holiday cheer But as usual, nary a comment It had been that way for over a year But his sprits arose With Christmas to

i don’t hate winter anymore because it doesn’t mean “losing you.” it just means “snowflakes” and “fairylights” and “a sad messiah.” but i like winter from inside cars behind frosted window panes and under thick creamy blankets. we used to drive down the white streets and we would count the street lights and traffic lights and christmas lights like they were stars. those were the days we believed we could wish on anything from snowflakes to the snowbanks you would sometimes throw me into your face pressed against my neck whistling sweet warm lullabies in my ears and we’d say 

Motionless, silent, was the heap washed ashore, held tight by Calypso now shaking, heart torn. Bearing him homeward she blessed him with ways of groaning; he greets her, heaven’s embrace. Drowning in kindness, he almost forgot to mourn; to grieve, remember the lost. Stroking his hair, she witnessed those tears. She kissed him; she loved him, this man without fear. The first time their eyes met, Man beheld God. Her gaze everlasting, she’ll never grow old. But roaring his passion, screaming in grief, speak clearly of loved ones, both living, deceased. Calypso, defeated; she could not persuade this human to j

He vowed he would never come back Never more tread that bewitching field Let old legends die, he did not care He had died inside. He walked amongst the green fields oblivious of all but his thoughts Unknowingly treading the familiar haunts. His mind lay elsewhere. The forest loomed ahead But he did not see, Blind he was to the beauty before him, Enchanted woods and glens these were... Full of memories half forgotten Fleeting laughter half heard brought as if on a wisp of wind, yet this young lover did not hear. Treading the worn path, dreaded path to the lake The lake, where he'd first seen her Seen the nymph that stole hi

Vile streams feed forests of deception Roots digging deep into earth scorched from the flames of misplaced ire Sky an eyesore black as every Self-deluded soul that inhabits it Weak, meek, feeble thriving on excuses Fetid scoundrel tongues deliver unfounded accusation Bricks to build a glittering metropolis of golden lies The fool's paradise

On sleepless nights I feed my insomnia with tales of my past. I retell the stories I've told many times before and dwell in the glow of my memories of glory. Bitter moments of hope, loss and sheer stubborness become flesh once again. Some call it the foolishness of the old and wrinkled, such as myself, but I can't seem to agree - I was a fool but once. That one time is locked away, caged deep beneath the bottom layers of subconsciousness, bound and shackled to a fate of infinite oblivion.