Comments Posted By alias

Displaying 1 To 30 Of 32 Comments


“Right. Here’s the gameplan.”

“This isn’t a gameplan.” Casey sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “This is our life. We can’t set it out in a bullet point list.”

“We can, and I fully intend to.” Laura said, seizing up a pen. “Sit down, darling. We’ve got work to do.”

» Posted By alias On 11.06.2017 @ 11:36 am


A mop of blonde hair; such an ugly comparison. Mops are always dripping wet, filthy. She scowled at her classmate, reading from his classwork. He hadn’t intended to insult her, but that hardly mattered. She twisted a lock around her finger.

» Posted By alias On 11.01.2017 @ 12:52 pm


Soundproof walls always carry connotations of sound, ironically enough. Soundproof walls bring to mind screams, and cries, and shouts for help- this is what he think, anyway, when the nurse tells him, beaming, that his walls are soundproof. And he nods, and sits down on the bed, and listens, and doesn’t hear any screams.

» Posted By alias On 09.13.2017 @ 12:25 pm


I started to see… what she meant by taboo. it wasn’s actually something that was not allowed because it was bad, but rather because it was different. she rushed me out of the tower, frantically saying “never come here again.”

» Posted By Alias On 05.14.2013 @ 3:52 am

Three times….. Os this normal?

» Posted By Alias On 05.13.2013 @ 9:33 pm


I think a piece of me died that day
when i wasn’t paying attention
too busy looking at the lights
and the people
to busy falling in love to notice

I think a piece of me died that day.

» Posted By Alias On 03.17.2013 @ 5:35 pm


I was always the underdog.
He hated me.
I hated me.
We all hated me.
Only some underdog stories
Missed their happy endings.

» Posted By Alias On 11.27.2012 @ 6:48 pm


I will never be enough.

» Posted By Alias On 11.19.2012 @ 8:14 pm


I measure the days
By the red dripping tick marks
Down my arms
And the beautiful carvings
Woven into my legs
Not by your smiles
Or your scorn

» Posted By Alias On 11.14.2012 @ 4:23 pm


She said shed only show you once
But her smile is slipping
Grey eyes glinting
In the firelight

» Posted By Alias On 10.19.2012 @ 4:15 pm


His hair was wet, clothes hung in rags around him
Blue eyes flashing
There was a knife in his hand.
It split the raindrops into a thousand slivers
That reflected the light from her cold eyes
She did not scream
She knew
Her knife was bigger

» Posted By alias On 10.11.2012 @ 5:00 pm


He throws her to the ground, face burning red
She screams but he can’t hear her
She’s crying but he can’t see.
Rage is taking over his body, contorting it and twisting him into a monster
Not the man she married

» Posted By Alias On 10.09.2012 @ 5:58 pm


“And if you wanna speak out, speak out”

» Posted By Alias On 09.30.2012 @ 7:34 pm


A million stories
On a black page with
Double yellow lines
A thousand colors
And beautiful words
Flowing and interlocking
Leaving their families and
Stories and

» Posted By alias On 09.22.2012 @ 9:37 pm


Her face was turning blue
I ran for the inhaler
I tried to save her
She was too far gone
It was too far away
I’m sorry
I’m sorry

» Posted By Alias On 09.13.2012 @ 7:55 pm


Dysfunctional Daughters Unite

Sorry Mom

Sorry Dad
But I didn’t get like this alone.

» Posted By Alias On 09.12.2012 @ 6:36 pm


He wasn’t looking where he was going. His eyes were closed. He couldn’t hear my warning, his headphones were too good. And that’s why. Just that. No other reason, no matter what anyone tells you. That’s the real truth. The real fault lies with me.

» Posted By alias On 09.08.2012 @ 9:40 pm


In the space of one breath
A choice is made
In three words, his fate is decided
Who? Who? Who? Who?
No one

» Posted By alias On 09.05.2012 @ 8:39 pm


to continue is
always a losing game because
Eventually even forever
comes to an end

» Posted By alias On 09.04.2012 @ 7:17 pm


He is no longer covered by the sheet, it has been kicked off and balled in the corner of his big boy bed. his curly blond hair is matted to his face and his feet are tucked up under him. His mother bends over and tenderly pulls the sheet back into place.

» Posted By alias On 09.03.2012 @ 9:36 am


The side of the couch is rough, like stone. I can’t see your face but I know your sitting there, in the dark. I can see the glowing end of your cigarette. I reach out my hand and touch your cheek. Your face is warn and bumpy. You haven’t shaved in weeks.

» Posted By alias On 09.02.2012 @ 6:43 am


cracked lips running
over a dry tongue
bending folding
caught somewhere between reality
a night mare
shapes jumping and
feathers floating
and still more
sun on your back and
suddenly nothing

» Posted By alias On 08.31.2012 @ 2:11 pm


the word is passed
from pink lip to ear
a coffee stained promise
to be known forever
as dear
and the songs they are sung
and the words they are spoken
but no matter how sad
to me you’ll never be broken

» Posted By alias On 08.30.2012 @ 8:20 pm


It was my salvation, on that hot steamy day, to find an ice cold bottle of lemonade. It was glass, like they used to make all bottles, and it had drips of ice rolling down the side. I sat in the shade and sipped it. For once not caring that I only had seven days to live.

» Posted By alias On 08.29.2012 @ 2:50 pm


The cover was dusty and filled with plastic girls, all covered in make up. They had painted on faces that I imagined would wash away in the slightest rain leaving them with blank empty canvases, nothings, just like everyone else.

» Posted By alias On 08.29.2012 @ 8:48 am

I think it could be useful, but only in an estranged sort of sense, if i were to own a magazine or two. It would keep my mind occupied and keep me from wondering too far into the depths of my own puzzles and confusions.

» Posted By alias On 08.28.2012 @ 2:41 pm

He picked it up slowly, sad fingers moving gently against the cover. Plastic girls with poofy lips and long hair filled the page, captioned with the words “Summer fun”. he didn’t dare think about how they had gotten there.

» Posted By Alias On 08.28.2012 @ 2:33 pm


To invent one must first have and Idea. A seedling of their imagination…creativity..and thought process including how to put it into action. A Process,spawning their brainchild,their invention.

» Posted By Alias On 02.18.2011 @ 12:52 pm


My alarm clock never jolts me out of bed. My cellphone’s little jingle won’t bother me. Fire bells, steam whistles, nothing will strike fear into my heart.

Except for the thunderclap, the one thing that causes alarm. You knew this, and yet, you let me cry alone in the house during the storm.

» Posted By alias On 02.07.2011 @ 9:33 pm


Peaceful, in the red haze and pools of chemicals. An accidental ray of light could massacre potential masterpieces, but the diligent photographer would never let that happen. Couldn’t let that happen. It’s bright and alive out there, where one’s camera can capture the world and reveal it to unsuspecting eyes, but confined in the darkroom… That is where a photographer’s soul belongs.

» Posted By Alias On 02.02.2011 @ 9:34 pm

 Page 1 of 2  1  2  » 
«« Back To Stats Page