Everything is a cliche, it's the artist's job to change that - Joe Castine


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Running in Circles

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:: 2003 17 October :: 6.27 am

Written: August 13, 2003
I know I can't have you
I know I shouldn't try
But when I think about it
I shrivel and I cry

It's a sad thing
How you're always on my mind
Tearing me up
Keeping me in a bind

I hate thinking now
Because you're always there
Taunting how you're not mine
This just isn't fair

It's like a part of me is missing
My better half is gone
In this horrible love triangle
I am nothing but a pawn

Everyone just moves on
It all goes by so fast
I can't keep up
Because you hold me in the past

It happens
What can ya do?
That's just the way it goes.
But God, I miss you

Written: August 11, 2003
I used to believe
Believed in you
What you told me
And what you could do

A hero
A valiant man
Will you be him?
Is there any way you can?

Winded and weak
Yet you still stand tall
Never hiding
Never going to fall

A pure soul
A heart longing to heal
Waiting as you fight
You're so very real

You're brave
You're alive
You're strong
You'll survive

You are my hero.

Written: sometime around September
I'm drowning. The waters of fear and sorrow fill my lungs. My chest explodes under such great pressure. I pick up the remains and there lies my shattered heart. Fragments of it are thrown so far and crushed so well that it's impossible to mend. Or even make an identifiable shape. It's this terrible sadness. It plagues me. Filling my head with malicious and bloody thoughts. They scream at me. Each little part of my mind producing an image of hellish visions. Each image just keeps screaming until I've lost all hearing. They gouge out my eyes, to take away my sight. But before that, they enter through the pupil, down to the utter pit of my center, my soul. They don't relieve it of all goodness. They don't just simply make it dark, cold and angry. They take it entirely. Stealing my soul, taking it to the depths of all means. Of all existance. And I'm left deaf, blind, and empty. I'm left in a state worse than death.

1 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.20 pm

Written:October 4, 2003
"Those three words." She wanted to confess it all to him. Tell him how she really felt. She ran her hand along his arm, then looked up into his eyes. He watched her gaze up at him. Lost in eachothers' eyes, she tried to tell him. The words were sticky, getting stuck to the roof of her mouth like peanut butter. She made the L, but when her tongue touched right behind her teeth, it stayed there. Making that L sound for what felt like forever. He watched her patiently. After a moment he smiled at her, brought her close to his chest and held tight. He said, "I love you."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and finally said, "I love you too," repeating it, until it rolled off her tongue. Because she knew she meant it. And he was her water, washing the peanut butter down.

Written: October 2, 2003
Feeling sick
Her eyes grow hot
She tries so hard
To be someone she's not

The tears fall down
She feels so fake
She wants acceptance
But what will it take?

Written: October 13, 2003
Poem inspired by Stacy
I was walking through the forest
the enchanted one, ya know?
I was frolicking past the trees
Though I had nowhere to go

I was suddenly stopped
by quite a surprising sight
There sat some bunnies
Playing poker to my right

They were drinking from cups
Filled with cool apple juice
I was offered a bit
From the one holding a deuce

After chatting for a few
I wandered on back home
I never saw those bunnies again
But in the forest, I still roam

It was the bears fault
Damn those fire breathing ones
They burn your house down
and eat poker-playing-bunnies by the tons

Written: September 24, 2003
I feel the beat
Up, down
Up, down
Feel the bounce
Resonating through your body

Tap, tapping along
Hear the music
I don't miss you
hahahahaha.... what a joke
What a joke

There goes the jester
Look at him cry
He's just a fool
What happened to his world?
Stop your pity, girl

I feel the beat
Up, down
Up, down
Feel the bounce
Resonating through your body

Getting sick
Feeling the pain
Curled on the floor
Wait you're gone

I'm not nervous
Listen to that guitar
Feel the music, man
And now it gets sour
It used to be beautiful

The music killed me
Ripped me real good
I feel ressurection coming on
I'm gonna live soon
Wait for me

Wait for me

Wait for me...

Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.19 pm

Written: September 23, 2003
Opening his eyes, he was hit with a deep blackness. It pressed against his eyes.
"Ugh..." His head felt groggy as he sat up. A long yawn and he searched the darkness with his eyes until he found the luminous red numbers of his alarm clock. 4:23 in the morning. "Oh man, not again," Dylan said as he raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed his face. He moved closer to the clock and felt around it until he found a small table lamp and switched it on. His small room was dimly illuminated.
Feeling wide awake now, he stood from his bed and walked to his bedroom door. The floor was littered with belongings and he almost tripped upon encountering a neglected skateboard. When he approached the door, he opened it and stepped into a hallway of two doors other than his own. At the end was a staircase. Displaying no intention of being quiet for his sleeping father, he bumped down the steps. At the landing he advanced to the kitchen and poured himself some milk. After a few drinks he sat at the dining table with his head down. "Why do I always do this?" he thought. Falling asleep early in the afternoon only to wake up in the young hours of the morning had become a habit for Dylan.
This night was the same as all the others. He had awoken from the dream of his mother and two sisters' death. However, it was much more intense than any other he had had before. It felt real, as if he had been in the car with them, felt the terror as it drew closer to the oncoming impact, felt the incredible pain as the bones in his body were pushed under great pressure and felt the raw hand of death clutch at his heart, preventing it from beating once more.
Dylan wiped the cold sweat from the back of his neck at this recollection of his dream. He swallowed some more milk, but the bitterness of the reality that they were never coming back didn't go away.

Written: September 26, 2003
Lying in bed, she awoke from the sun shining brightly through her window, flooding her room with the sign of morning. Emily sat up slowly and looked down at him. He was all she cared about. She watched him sleeping next to her for a few moments, then gently curled up close to him, lying her head on his chest. She felt the rise and fall as he breathed in deeply. She put her hand in his. She poured her eyes over the shape of their hands together. Her eyes brought her up his arm, watching the curves of his muscles. Soon she was brought to his neck. A good neck, supporting a beautiful face. She looked at his cheeks. His skin had a roughness to it, but was still soft to the touch. She wanted to run her hand along his arm, reaching his neck, then up higher, to place it on his face. Then she'd bring him forward and kiss him deeply.
After she came out of this fantasy, she realized her eyes had been transfixed on his lips. She looked up and saw that his eyes were open, watching her. She smiled softly and layed back down on his chest. She felt his hand touch her head and he ran his fingers through her hair a few times. She never wanted the moment to end.
After some time had passed, she heard something, like rattling, downstairs. She sat up, alert. At the same moment, he did too. They both got out of the bed and walked over to the door.
"Stay here," he said as he opened it. He walked out and closed the door. She stood anxiously.
Soon ten minutes had passed and she hadn't heard anything since the first rattling. Her worry and anxiety increased every second. After 5 more minutes, she couldn't bear it any longer and opened the door a crack. She peered out. Smoke was creeping up the steps. Apprehension sank deep inside her. She opened the door enough, and stepped out. As she walked down the steps, the smoke got thicker. It was like a cloud around her, a deadly cloud. It seemed to tell her that the thicker it got, the closer she was to hell, which had left the underworld, only to settle in her living room.
Breathing became tough. Her eyes started to water as the smoke fogged her sight. She could hear the fire. Then she could see it. Her kitchen was engulfed. The flames licked at the walls and the floor, making their way to the rest of the house. The devil himself was in those flames, eating up everything in sight. She watched the photos on the wall die away.
Reality then hit her. She yelled out his name, but he didn't answer. She yelled again. No answer. She started screaming it out, growing frantic.
She ran through the rooms that hadn't yet let the conflagration enter. Sweat dripped from her body and her vision blurred terribly from the smoke and tears, which were now pouring down her face.
Then she saw him.
He lay in the corner of an office, not far from the ever impending fire. He lay limp and umoving. She ran to him. When she got close enough to make him out clearly she screamed out and cried fiercly. Blood soiled every inch of his front. A knife lay sleekly in his hand. A gash on his chest proved the knife's purpose. Blood continued to leave his body. She tore off her shirt and pressed it hard against the wound. When she did so, he flinched in pain.
"They came in here.." it was hard for him to talk and he slurred the words as they came out. "Had a knife.. I tried to get away, but they just kept coming." He paused and breathed a few times. Emily's shirt was already completely red from his new spilling blood. She pressed harder. He flinched again and said, "..poured gasoline all over the kitchen.. then they set it on fire and left.." She wiped his sweaty face with her hand. He let out a long groan in pain. He added, "I tried. I tried to stop them.. I really did."
She said, "I know, I know you did." She let out a sob and looked away from him. "We have to get out of here. We have to go, now."
"I can't.." he said breathlessly.
"Yes you can, you have to!" She heard something collapse somewhere in the house. "C'mon we have to go!" She tried to lift him.
"I can't.. Emily.."
"No!" she sobbed. She started to pull him across the floor. "No, you have to!"
"Emily..." he said, "It's no use.. listen."
She stopped and he lay on the floor. She dropped to her knees and hugged his body. She bawled into his shoulder.
"No.." she cried, "no you can't leave me.."
"Emily.. " his breathing became sharp and the intakes were quick and low. "Emily I love you."
She cried profusely. "no... no...." she repeated into his shoulder.
"Go," he said and she felt the heaving of his chest cease. She raised herself and looked down at his lifeless body. Although the fire was so close, she felt a deep coldness and a chill ran down her spine.
"NO!" she screamed, "no! Come back to me! Come back!" She stood up and punched the wall. A hole appeared and she continued punching. She paused and looked at the door. She saw the flames licking to the inside of the room. She stared and watched it for a moment. It was getting nearer her love. A foot away it was from him before she turned. She ran to the end of the room where a window was. She opened it, crawled out and looked inside one last time. The flames had already taken over half the room.
She then ran a good ways away and sat under a tree. She cried, sobbed, bawled into her knees. She looked up with her red and tear stained face. The entire house was now in an envelope of flames. She marveled at the inferno. She watched the memories burn and thought of all she had lived through, with him, in that house. But it wasn't the house she felt deep injustice about, it was him. Him. She loved him so. More than anything else. The devil had creeped into her kitchen, slinked his way through her house uninvited and taken away all the happiness that ever exsisted for her. She felt hatred and loathing beyond anything she'd ever felt before. Watching her life burn away in minutes, she sat under that tree, thinking about the wrong being done. Thinking about the card fate had played her. Thinking about how everything was gone, he was gone and she can never get what she had back. She can never change anything. She sat and she thought about how she was completely, utterly, helpless.

Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.19 pm

Written: September 4, 2003
He watched the water drip
Damning the leaky faucet
Picking up an old magazine
Only to toss it

Sat back on the couch
Fidling with a dime
Sank in the memories
Of a long lost time

He flipped the coin
Mentally making a game
Heads, she comes back
Tails, all stays the same

Twirling in the air
A blur to what side shall land
Then there it lays
Tails face up in his hand

"If of all words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are, `It might have been,'
More sad are these we daily see:
`It is, but hadn't ought to be.'"
-- Francis Brett Hart

Written: September 22, 2003
Letting Go
Sitting in class
Watching the teacher
But she's not paying attention
The voice doesn't reach her

She can't seem to focus
Her mind isn't there
Engrosed in her thoughts,
She has a blank stare

Watching the images
That float in her head
She wants to explain
What just can't be said

There he stands
Yet completely abstract
She needed him
And he's what she lacked

Looking at him
Through her mind's eye
She studied his body
And wanted to cry

A thought occured
And she knew it was right
She let the image go
She once held so tight

You stab me with your words
Restrict me of my life
Take away everything I love
Then wash your bloody knife

Of the skeletons in your closet
I'm the mangled one of all
You beat me when I try to stand
So I stumble and I fall

I feel the raw burn
As the flames lick at my skin
My blood boils
And you bask in your twisted sin

I've finally given up
Because I shall never escape
You've violated me
With a game of awful rape

Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.18 pm

Written: August 19, 2003
It was a windy night. Not too cold. The stars were hidden by the gloom of dark clouds. She sat on the bench waiting patiently. The words played over and over in her head, uncertain of which ones to use. She heard the crunching of autumn leaves and looked up. There he was, leisurely making his way toward her, the darkness revealing him slowly. He stopped in front of her and she stood up to face him. Taking his hand, she looked in his eyes.
"I'm sorry. I love him," she spoke and looked down. After a moment she looked up at his expressionless face. He leaned forward, whisered in her ear, "I still love you," and kissed her cheek. He then turned back the way he came and left her at the dark street as the night seemed to grow darker. She stood for several minutes, staring after him until he was no longer visable. She turned the opposite direction and made her way home.

It was a week later. She lay in the arms of her love. The phone rang and she answered it. He was at the hospital. He was dying.
"We have to go see him," she tells her love.

Lying on his deathbed, he stared at her at his side. Her love standing next to her. He felt deep abhoration for that man. He hated that his enemy could see him in his weakest state. Pain coursed through his body and tears streamed from his face. He grabbed her hand and held it tight as he took his last gasping breaths.
"Please.." he breathed, "kiss me one last time."
She bent over and kissed him gently. She felt the life leave him as her lips did.

Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.17 pm

Written: June 20, 2003
I think I know
you're thinking
I know what it is
you hide
deep in that tunnel of yours
what is that?
it's not right
just that
that hideous thing
what do you think?
What's that?
No no no.
You're wrong
I think I know.
but perhaps
is there a way around it?
yes, we're all...
*snickers once more*

Written: June 20, 2003
There's no way around it
I'll just have to wait
I'm going to stare
Watching for fate

bubble gum and candy
childhood games
distant memories
faces with no names

3:16 in the morning
all to do is think
sitting in my chair
letting my mind sink

i love the rain
and the pink roses
i love how i hate
all your fake poses

I need that memory
heh, I'm running out
now I'm rambling
without a doubt

I'm rhyming like an idiot
because I'm here
so you get to read this
have fun, my dear :)

heheh, this is starting to suck
I've stopped trying
Almost a bad feeling
Can't even begin crying

Once you stop trying
lose all motivation
you're just lost and alone
and past desperation

man, I need to stop
I'm gonna keep sitting here though
I think Joe fell asleep
what to do... I really don't know

Written: July 11, 2003
Someone once told me
Not to write about love
"It can't be described accurately"
This quote I'm proud of

I'm not gonna sit here and ramble
As if I know what love is
Because I'm as unsure of it as you are
But I'll know when my heart is his

I don't know what I expected
When I started writing this
I just needed to do something
I needed to regain that bliss

Everlasting happiness
Do you believe in it?
I remain undecided
It sounds too good to fit.

I don't know how to end this
I didn't know how to begin
I just started typing
Hoping for a grin

Written: July 23, 2003
I'm watching the time capsule.
As it falls through my hands.
Fragments near my feet.
Shattered like the heart of that lonely man.

Lost in a corner
Staring out with blank eyes
emotional apathy
frustrated serenity

Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 10.16 pm

The sky is deep, the sky is dark.
The light of the stars is so damn stark.
When I look up, I fill with fear.
If all we have is what lies here,
this lonely world, this troubled place,
then cold dead stars and empty space...
Well, I see no reason to persevere,
no reason to laugh or shed a tear,
no reason to sleep or ever to wake,
no promises to keep, and none to make.
And so at night I still raise my eyes
to study the clear but mysterious skies
that arch above us, as cold as stone.
Are you there, God? Are we alone?


Constructive criticism?

:: 2003 14 October :: 8.43 pm

I'm just writing to see what the font is going to look like and such. Dum dee do..
gibberish gibberish
I love Joe....
Yes I do.
( \/ )
..\ /
bah. my heart sucks.
Oh well

1 gave me something to work with | Constructive criticism?

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