Comments Posted By HumanKryptonite
Displaying 31 To 52 Of 52 Comments
Slumped over from your exhaustion
your delirium is spreading
to the conscious side of life
where daydreams don’t matter
if you’ve got no bank
is determined by
whose the better cheat.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 12.01.2011 @ 4:15 pm
This desolate place
this archaic ruin
there’s an empty space
set me free
I’m shackled here
but you can’t see
You’ve lost your way
and don’t have a map
So I stay
in this pit trap.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.27.2011 @ 10:27 am
Lol. Bill Clinton. That is all. No creative juices needed for this.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.25.2011 @ 5:54 pm
Walking fast paced, head down
Damaged goods go far
and broken trust is a fine seem to sew.
In time, in time,
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.18.2011 @ 6:14 pm
Swing high, fast paced heart,
gasping, swerve, swift fall
broken winged crippled thing
lying on the hard ground.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.16.2011 @ 2:50 am
He heard some faint tapping noise, constant in his ear, echoing. He stirred, turning his head and fluttering his eyes until he realized he was in the dark, surrounded by nothing it seemed but the cool metallic flooring he sat upon. Startled, he sat upright, jolted by the fear of unknowing.
The clank-clank-clank of the noise grew louder and louder and louder until his own heartbeat matched the deafening tone of the sickening melody. The entire world, or at least to him, was a violent chaos, shaking him back and forth until light appeared above him, and a pair of doors opened below.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.11.2011 @ 5:15 pm
Here, there’s no such thing as chastity, or values
Or manners and morality
In a run down heaven like Harlem.
Here, tires squeal hard and fast as they skid to a stop
In front of crooked-winged angels in
Small skirts and a veil of smoke
In this run down heaven called Harlem.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 11.05.2011 @ 6:09 pm
Prancing in a field of lies,
your innocent ears do not detect
the abnormalities in their false stories
so you keep your pace
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 10.12.2011 @ 2:19 pm
I’m sitting here with my girl relatives watching “The Real Wives of New Jersey” and the mystery of what lie is easier felt. Fun, fun, fun.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 10.08.2011 @ 5:52 pm
And I guess you should have listened.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 10.05.2011 @ 4:00 pm
There isn’t such a thing as values
or minority or
in a run down heaven like Harlem.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 10.04.2011 @ 4:32 pm
Jahda was an unusual girl. She always had her eyes pasted to that dictionary of hers, always humming that strange tune. Her Black Dalia hair was worn in a loose fishtail braid, and her socks went to her knees. Her long sleeves were pulled tight into the palm of her hand, as if she was anxious or scared or both. But, once, I caught a glimpse of the mess she had made of herself, of the angry hatch marks and pocked skin underneath those sweaters. But pain was Jahda’s opiate, filling her up and distracting her. Pain was her remedy.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 10.01.2011 @ 12:20 pm
There was always something romantic about the way her breath fogged windows. “There is more to this, another dimension I can’t see.”, she thought. The air, it talked to her, sensed her. She felt it on warm July nights, when her small frame was folded under the sheets, the curve of her back wet with perspiration.
Colbie turned her face to the window, to the fleeting clouds and abundant grasses that made up her world.
“There is something more, past my line of perception, and I have yet to make the glasses to map it out.”
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 09.30.2011 @ 9:01 pm
Candles. Acceptance. Wanting. Roses. Lacking. Needing. Sly smiles. Using.Touching. Heartache. Hand holding. Deeper conversations with me.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 09.30.2011 @ 8:48 pm
She watched her mother’s hands; how beautifully they moved, how graceful! She wondered how many times those hands had been burnt by an oven, or the times when they caressed her own head at night when her mother had tucked her in. How many band-aids had she held or sewing needles or coffee cups. Long slender fingers, ghosty pale with neatly clipped finger nails and calloused knuckles from years of use. Tendons and veins hiding just beneath their fleshy tent cover that showed during late nights at when she typed typed typed at her computer. She looked down at her own ugly hands, tan from her Indian genes and days in the sun, short wobbly fingers with chewed off paint spattered nails. She wished for those beautiful, graceful hands.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 09.10.2011 @ 6:25 am
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….There aren’t enough grains of salt in the sea or words in the dictionary for how much
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 09.03.2011 @ 8:56 am
She was sick of the compliments, of the insincere commentaries of her behavior. She didn’t want to be her mother’s daughter, and Poppa was almost never around ever since Jean-Claude started to visit with Mother. She didn’t want this, she thought. How could Mother do such a thing to Poppa? Doesn’t she know how it hurts?
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.14.2011 @ 1:41 pm
A slap on the wrist. That’s all it was. A simple reminder at what she should keep her attentions focused towards. But oh, the dreams. She’d always run to him.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.14.2011 @ 1:26 pm
Whilst playing “the game of things” the other night, my question was “What’s something you wish was delivered?” I of course answered with this: “ANSWERS, goddangit!”
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.11.2011 @ 9:36 pm
I pull my rubber band tight around my wrist, twisting it till it hurts and I can remember “Finally!”
I forgot lemon juice at the store:/
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.10.2011 @ 4:56 pm
Makes me think of flexibility. No, not yoga. Like, the open-minded sort of flexibility. a freedom I do not possess. I don’t want to be a bird, I want to be a stable rock in a slow current.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.10.2011 @ 4:54 pm
Back To Stats Page
Someday, I’m going to just take a twisted series of unplanned turns and see where I end up….I think the freedom could fix me, even if I’m not so broken.
» Posted By HumanKryptonite On 08.10.2011 @ 1:19 am