November, 2008

I'm wishing
that it could have gone on,
the darkness enveloping two bodies
intertwined
forever.

Reality doesn't matter.
Not when I'm with you.

Memory scars linger on my face
from your fingers tracing across it,
almost lazily,
in the dark.

Phantom hands, now,
holding onto one another
never wanting to release their grasp.

Phantom hands,
but they seem so real.

They were real,
but it feels almost like
they weren't.
My mind- the memories in it-
clouded by the shock of stepping back
into reality.

The memories are still there,
but they're hiding behind the clouds.

If we can't call them back
we can make new ones.

I can't seem to
see the line

the point when
i should just
keep my mouth
shut

where just being
me
is much too much
and i should just stop
so you don't have
to be
you

I don't see the line
so
i suppose i constantly step
on your
toes
bump against you
in my silly attempt
to
balance.

If you pretend it's
easy to catch
me
i'll just get
more confused
but if you tell me
the truth i
might cry.

I'm sorry
I just don't
know
how
to
do
this
right.

I hate how you can talk to me like that, like I didn't tell you all of my downfalls and crashes, like I didn't tell you that I loved stars; like you don't really know me.

I'm sorry,
I just don't want to research one of these Russian guys
And write a page paper about him.
I'm sorry,
I just don't.

(Unfinished, as of yet. This is what I have at the moment. Tell me what you think.

~Kiwi)

A woman sat a small, rounded kitchen table. She looked up from her clasped hands. The doorknob turned and a young man fell into the room. She stood up and then knelt beside him. He was on the floor, but sitting upright. She slid next to him.

“Astor, what are you doing here? It can’t be over, can it? No, that isn‘t right, I would’ve heard about it… Why are you here? Did something happen?” she asked worriedly while trying to make eye contact.

“I had business to attend to. You wouldn’t understand,” he told her, shifting his shockingly blue eyes elsewhere. “It was very important that I saw to it.”

“And so you did,” she sighed. He didn’t so much as blink. A chasm of dead air came between them. “Or, I assume you did,” she told him hurriedly.

“Never jump to conclusions,” he smiled, returning her constant gaze.

The oncoming truck of darkness is rarley unavoided.

I think its funny
How people like you
Lie to people like me
So that my life seems a little brighter
Just so that yours doesnt seem so dark
Like an oncoming night
That races through a tracks
Like a speeding bullet

I think it's funny
How you say you can relate to my life
When your life is like you're on a golden throne
Where people bow down to your every need
And when I was small
I was one of them
Back breaking under the tension

And now my life is so different from yours
And yet you say yours is worse
Where I run through the rain to reach my goals
Where I fight relentlessly
Until there is no difference between day break
and dusk

Where is seems that there are no tears left
But still they come

I used to feel like a flower in the shade
A flower where the water never quite got to
A rose that soon turned black and brittle

And you call it my
cold
black
Heart

She hates hospitals.
I guess it's really the mood she hates, the morose people and the smell of blood. So much blood. The whole place is chock-full of desolate prospects and whispering ghosts of good memories gone bad.
But what she hates more is what happens before the 911 call, before she can hear the sirens screaming down the road.

the sun beats down
on our tan peeling faces
and the only sound
is the sound of our bare feet
slapping the warm asphalt
desolate
the trees
sky
and ground
seem to blend together into one
massive stoic blur
beads of sweat trickle down
out sardonic faces
as we challenge nature
no, we ask nature
we plead to it as we try not to slow
try not to let the thought of the next day come
the day that will end the joy
of hot sweaty days
and warm breezy nights
where the trees sway as if they were dancers
waiting for the beginning jump
of the beat to start
throwing us into a rush of movement
jerking us forward and back
until the jumping beat dies
along with our feet
which are like a pulse
like someone giving up
and letting the dark black blanket
finally enfold them
I guess summer really is over.

feet shuffle forward
slow painful steps
hope comes
and then is lost
each step makes you feel hollow
unlike a strong tree
where others reach out to it
but now we're all alone
you feel like an apple core
no one ever seems to get enough
always needing more
there seems like an easy way out of the pain
many people take it
only those who arent strong enough to
but there is a different way out
if you scream hard enough
and if you're strong enough to pull on the door
of the little room that enclosed you
and fed you terrible lies
and you didnt believe them at first
and you let the hunger get the better at you
so you believed the lies
everything
because there was no one there to tell you differently
but if you believe me
there is a way out
one more step
to just keep going
and you'll get through the wall
that stands tall above you
a light will come for you
one that is different from death
but one of hope
and you'll find that light
if you only take
one
more

The soles of my feet are covered with grime and blood

as I run from something that cannot be hidden from

and it will soon consume me into darkness

try and reach out to me

but colors swim in my head

forming into one painting on the wall

with a crimson frame

my mind glides across the picture

as you see tears leap from my face.

and swim to the floor

try and grab on to the last bit of hope

as the pain crushes every last breath out of you

out of me

color swims back into my face

from the painting

now only a black and white sketch

with no gray areas

only yes or no

time is up, my friend

choose now

and let the realization of your answer

crush the last thought of ever having that dream

be a reality

let the realization crush me

and watch the colors fade from my face

until I am only the painting on the wall

the black and white sketch

and colors fill your face

I feel like an apple

that has rolled away from a tree

where no one will find it

people pass by choosing and eating the better apples on the trees

but no one cares to see the rotting apple on the ground

that will soon turn to dust.

The morning sun rose and shone in my eyes. I slowly opened them, not wanting to. The smell of bacon climbed up the stairs and up my nose. "Silver," my mother called. My mother had a soft voice, like honey slowly sliding off a spoon.

I slowly climbed out of bed, my feet twitching as they touched the cold wood floor. It had snowed last night, and everything was so cold. It was like we had been stuck in a freezer, and tiny ice cubes were falling from the sky.

I looked out the window; kids were skating on the pond and having snowball fights, laughing. I enjoyed watching them; I felt like I knew them, even though I didn't.

My eyes softly floated over to a small, round snow fort, where not many people could have fit in, I guessed. There was something awkward about the fort, but what?

"Silver," my mother's voice broke my thoughts about the fort.

I walked through the woods. I was looking for my baseball that I had thrown into a tree. Suddenly I felt like I was being stalked.
I whirled and saw two red eyes in a bush. This wasn't a trick; this was real!
I turned and ran up the hill and through the forest. The beast was almost on top of me, literally! Its jaws open, the beast jumped! I dove away just in time!
The beast ran right into a tree, and an apple fell from the tree and onto its head, so hard it went cold! I suddenly realized the "apple" was my baseball!
I grabbed the baseball and ran out of the woods. "That was close," I thought, as I scurried into my house.

Have you heard me?
Have you heard me when I've told you
More or less
That I can't stand this?
I can't do this anymore.
I don't want to put on
My pretty face,
Smile, and say I love you.
Have you heard me
When I've told you
That I don't love you?

I need something to drench this mind-numbing silence, to make it limp and non-existent, and to turn it into what's really electrifying the air- shortened breath and deadly screams, pulses dropping and a heart moniter going to one, flat, lifeless pitch.

Vermont doesn’t have any big cites, or the ocean. It doesn’t have resorts, skyscrapers, or huge flocks of tourists. This is what makes Vermont so special. Without any big attractions, Vermont has managed to stay a small rural state that no one knows about. This is a good thing, because without cites to destroy it, nature can take control.
Long winding dirt roads, covered in vibrantly colored leaves, and lined with ancient oak and maple trees, are much better than huge hotels, skyscrapers, and casinos. This is much closer to the way the earth was created, closer to how nature intended it to be. Long hikes through the Green Mountains, lunch on top of an overlook, and nature walks looking for perfect autumn leaves are better than taking a lunch break from a giant twenty-story office. They are better than walking through crowded sidewalks with people everywhere, strangers that you have never seen or met before and probably won’t ever know.

" I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh "
Raiohead- Creep

"I've done everything as you say
I've followed your rules without question
I thought it would help me see things clearly
But instead of helping me to see
I look around and it's like I'm blinded
.......
I feel like I'm spinning out of control
Try to focus but everything's twisted
And all along I thought you would be there
(Thought you would be there)
To let me know I'm not alone
But in fact that's exactly what I was"
Hoobastank- Out of Control

Because you
Told me,
Because it makes you
Happy

I am writing this
For you

Because several words ago
This page was
Empty
I am going to fill
It

I am going to write
About
You- not me this time
Not this time
Because I’ve decided.
(I’m trying not to be dark)

I’m hoping this will
Make you smile
Mi amigo.
I can count on one
Hand
How many times I’ve seen
You smile.

I think it’s three.

It’s a little hard
To say thank you
In a poem

It’s a little hard to be
Taken seriously,
Believed

But you do a lot
Even if you insist
All gratitude
Is unnecessary and
Uncalled for
You don’t really get
It
I don’t think
But that’s okay
Te amamos
Anyway.

11/30/08
5:12 P.M.

My friends, NonSequitur has finished her novel.

Gifts from Many Devils
A Novel in Three Novellas
By Sierra M.

54,476 words, 139 pages, 3 years, 1,576,800 minutes.

Sparkling cider will be served tomorrow in the 500 wing.

Yeah, I've already bought the stuff.

Now begins the long, lonely bout of publisher shopping...;)

What it is Like to Be a Vermonter

Remo Plunkett
Honors English 9
Miss Parent
November 5, 2008
Plunkett
When I visit cities around the country I realize how much I love the landscape and people that make up the Green Mountain State. Our state’s tourist numbers prove my point. Many out-of-state citizens enjoy Vermont very much, from the lake to the mountains. I am proud, and grateful to have these opportunities in my backyard. As a Vermonter I feel a responsibility to preserve these attractions so others who are not as fortunate to live in Vermont can partake in their beauty as well. To me being a Vermonter is a privilege as well as a responsibility. Although Vermont is a small state, nevertheless I am still very proud to call myself a Vermonter because Vermont has had a great impact on my life.

The wet, soggy grass tasted so good. After what happened yesterday, I was led to believe that I would never taste this banal, but wonderful meal ever again. Yet, this was an ordinary routine for me no matter what happened in the past.
They came after us again yesterday. I looked over at my younger brother. It was fortuitous that we both escaped. It was hard to believe that my older brother didn't make it. My older sister still looked mournful. Our eyes met. Not wanting to see the sorrow behind them, I quickly went back to grazing. They never shoot at her.

This isn't done...

I feel
Tense.
Pale.
Distant.
This is new to me.
I am used to being colorful
And talkative
And a vibrant shade of happy.
Where have I gone?

By wanting more control
I lost myself.
I lost the things I loved about me.
I lost my color,
My indulgent side.
The part of me that
Listened to people that needed to be heard
And hugged the people that
Didn't look happy.
Where have I gone?

Control
such a funny word
I envy it all.
Lost
such a sad word
I wish I could hear it more
Selfish
such my word, no arguing, it is
I wish I could show the world
Cold
marks the start of the cheerful holidays
marks how I am impossibly unthawbly frozen
Dumb
such a dumb retarded word
mocking my decisions
These words mark my life
Mark my mind

Crinkle the rapper as much as you can
until you are in the candy land
pop the candy between your lips
then close your eyes and jiggle your hips
gently suck and make sure to savor
the really delicious and fruity flavor