yellowchair-27

  We stumbled through our silly tango between all the grinding, jumping dancers.  Every other body was simply another obstacle in our path.  "Slow slow, quick quick, slow," I repeated.    The only thought going through my head was how she had turned me down and making a big deal of it would ruin what we already had.  Back then I didn't know that she would be the first of many.  Somehow, I got her to spend two songs with me, and a third, once the perfect beat came on.    Logic says that the song eventually ended, but, in my mind, it doesn't.  I watch her face and me misstep and laugh for all eternity, Miss Gaga never stops telling us about

This one's for the guys who sit alone every night, wondering why the girls don't like them. And this one's for the girls that do, the one's that lay in bed wondering why he won't ask. This one's for the small town folk who stare into fields all day, waiting for something to happen. And this one's for the city slickers, disillusioned by the whole scene and asking "Where's the meaning?  Where's the feeling?" This one's for the high schoolers that go to class and get straight A's, and haven't learned a thing. And this one's for the teachers that feel threatened by any passion and don't care past their paychecks. This one's for

James and the Average-Sized Peach By Dustin Roth (with apologies to Roald Dahl and thanks to James Greek)    Long ago in London, there lived a young boy named James.  James was a relatively normal, but very English boy.  I mean really English.  He had a thick, cockney accent and everything.     "Excuse me sir, but would you mind getting on with it?" said little James in all his British glory.  "There's quite a story to be told here, and we are just sitting around breaking the fourth wall."    "Oh yes, sorry, I lost myself for a moment," I said. 

   She told me she wanted to die. I told her that she is loved and that people would be devastated without her. She thanked me and told me that I stopped her from doing something stupid that night.   She told me about her addiction to cutting. I told her that she doesn't deserve to bleed and that I would help her get through it.   She told me she felt empty and numb. I told her that I've felt that way a lot too.   She told me that I'm adorable. I told her that she is beautiful. She told me that she really liked me. I told her that I really like her.   I promised to never lie to her. She promised to never lie to me. She

In a town not far from here lived a man who made his living brewing beer. Every two weeks or so he'd have a few kegs to sell at the market near. His monopoly went well until a challenger appeared. A group of immigrants who could brew beer that was revered. "These aliens can really brew!" said the man to his son. "But I know how to win, just think we won't even need  gun!" This eldest son had been around for sixteen odd years. His part in this resolve was to bring about many tears. He was to sneak in late at night and poison the usurpers' brew. As it came closer to the time, his uneasiness grew. He walked straight to the pl

I sit here, pen in hand. As the snow falls outside. Wondering what to do, Wishing I could hide. The snow turns to sleet. I rise to leave the room, And try to find a place To escape from all this gloom. I stare out the window, And see the desolate field. I give a short sigh and turn away, Not caring what it will yield. God I hate Ohio.

What is cold? Cold is the absence of heat, The disappearance of all warmth. Yet cold is so much more than that. Cold is discomfort. That little aggravation, That itch you cannot scratch. Cold is despair. Utter despondence, The loss of all hope. Cold is the absence of life. Complete death, No vivacity to be found. Cold is emptiness. A loss of all things good. It leaves you but a shell, Of the being you once were. Can you feel the draft in here?

Kill my memories, swallow my dreams. Send me away. I'll make myself clean. Murder my past, disembowel my future. Just shut me up, I'll be the butcher. Stop my free thoughts. Silence my tongue. I will be still, I won't try to run. I have nothing to give, I've nothing to lose. When they're through with me, I'll be but a bruise.

I've never been so alive as just before a storm. Breathe in deep, the gusts of wind, chaos approaching. Fill me up, gale! I cry, lift me up, take me someplace else, someplace new. We are all just leaves blowing in the wind, And we are all overused clichés.

And in this dark harvest of season My life has completely lost reason, For which or against to decide. All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide In sadness and in kindness In light and in darkness. In a boat made of hope I shall sail to tomorrow, In a winding hurricane Made of treachery and sorrow. There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear... Piercing, slashing though my head. Starting somewhere in heaven, Ending somewhere in hell. Fighting, burning, crying, crashing. Are the armies within. In my head they are all thrashing. On the heaven's and hell's whim. To be light or to be darkness. A perpetual array. It's not merely my choi