Submissions by Shoulderghost (Robb)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
"I went to sleep a poet and I woke up a fraud"
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
30th Jan 2016 2:49pm
30th Jan 2016 2:49pm
How To Smile (#CreepyPastaChallenge Entry)
787 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Jan 2016 3:08pm
28th Jan 2016 3:08pm
Heart Tattoo
The heart tattoo on her wrist is
one I've learned. It pokes out from
long sweater sleeves, colors her
glowing skin, covers choice scars.
She makes no attempt to
hide, when I press my lips to it, or
caress it with my thumb. But
had she not done it to herself, I
would think it meaningless. Words
do not comfort, skin does not
hold its warmth. She smiles, and
it is hollow, though she assures it
was never my doing. A scar running
down the middle is jagged and
breaks it.
one I've learned. It pokes out from
long sweater sleeves, colors her
glowing skin, covers choice scars.
She makes no attempt to
hide, when I press my lips to it, or
caress it with my thumb. But
had she not done it to herself, I
would think it meaningless. Words
do not comfort, skin does not
hold its warmth. She smiles, and
it is hollow, though she assures it
was never my doing. A scar running
down the middle is jagged and
breaks it.
622 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th Jan 2016 10:56am
26th Jan 2016 10:56am
Crooner
Not sure by what power I
found myself in a corner booth, no
drink, too cold. A couple of
patrons were looking down on their
luck, worse for where they
were than me. Two tens in a
billfold, not a wall light paying
me time of day. There was the
as-to-be-expected usuals:
truckers, homewreckers, desperates,
and a handful of a young thing. Her
hair, muck-colored, parted over her
shoulders, looked almost obsidian in
swathes of lamp light, breasts
hiked up to her collar. She would
occasionally glance, me or the...
found myself in a corner booth, no
drink, too cold. A couple of
patrons were looking down on their
luck, worse for where they
were than me. Two tens in a
billfold, not a wall light paying
me time of day. There was the
as-to-be-expected usuals:
truckers, homewreckers, desperates,
and a handful of a young thing. Her
hair, muck-colored, parted over her
shoulders, looked almost obsidian in
swathes of lamp light, breasts
hiked up to her collar. She would
occasionally glance, me or the...
595 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Jan 2016 10:12am
25th Jan 2016 10:12am
Can't Wait 'Til Tomorrow
Here's to the nights spent on
flashing screens and old
pictures of your temple.
You'd never get any
younger, and the days you
weren't here I'd have to
get myself off on all the
things you said you would
do to me, this I knew, but a
little wear-and-tear on
both of our behalves is to
be expected. You've
told me a number of times to
keep my hands away from
myself until I'd see you again,
especially my pockets. I
wonder if age and experience will
treat us better than
weathering the storming
hormones we ride out...
flashing screens and old
pictures of your temple.
You'd never get any
younger, and the days you
weren't here I'd have to
get myself off on all the
things you said you would
do to me, this I knew, but a
little wear-and-tear on
both of our behalves is to
be expected. You've
told me a number of times to
keep my hands away from
myself until I'd see you again,
especially my pockets. I
wonder if age and experience will
treat us better than
weathering the storming
hormones we ride out...
798 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
24th Jan 2016 10:24pm
24th Jan 2016 10:24pm
Less Than Notable
The playlist goes ever 'round and 'round, and my bony ass leaves a discernible fossil print in the cushion of my desk chair. I daydream about dark stages, pulsing masses, screaming into somebody's cheap microphone and headbanging 'til my neck damn near snaps and sends my severed skull spiraling off. People mortify me, more so in large gatherings or just one-on-one, but open acts of catharsis don't seem to hold the same weight. Honesty is the shackles coming off, openness is loosing the anchor. I'm more afraid of pretending to be okay now than driving away the people that can't handle the...
594 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
24th Jan 2016 12:43pm
24th Jan 2016 12:43pm
Clothes
I've always hated sleeping naked, especially
Next to you. It's just too damn cold with
Winter here for body heat to make a
Difference, and I don't think I need to
Tell you of the subtle pleasures of having a
Hand spontaneously shoved down your
Pants as a wake up call. Your tits look
Better in a shirt first, more so when the
Temperature acts as an indicator for
Where your nipples are. The anticipation of
That slow rise and sudden fall when you
Take it off always gets to me. Your
Lips are more inviting when there's
Some amount of...
Next to you. It's just too damn cold with
Winter here for body heat to make a
Difference, and I don't think I need to
Tell you of the subtle pleasures of having a
Hand spontaneously shoved down your
Pants as a wake up call. Your tits look
Better in a shirt first, more so when the
Temperature acts as an indicator for
Where your nipples are. The anticipation of
That slow rise and sudden fall when you
Take it off always gets to me. Your
Lips are more inviting when there's
Some amount of...
873 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
24th Jan 2016 10:51am
24th Jan 2016 10:51am
Silence
It hurts that I can't sit in silence. My bedroom, car rides, hell, even just trying to fall asleep, I need something to remind me that I'm not being hunted. The problem with addiction, with anxiety and its depressive love affair, is the hints in everything. Every thought, every passing second is a precise, meticulously-calibrated execution of the illness scouting its sufferer. It knows footprints in the snow, the difference between a breeze and a breath. For the hunted, it's never persistent on the heels, nipping, sometimes pulling away with blood drawn. It likes to watch its meal tremble,...
839 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
24th Jan 2016 2:29am
24th Jan 2016 2:29am
Been A While
Been a year and then some,
Haven't had it any better than fuck-
Me blue eyes and an ass that
Had me going just seated in my
Lap. I got you all day, with
Stamina that only nineteen and twenty-
Somethings know. I'm still un-
Sure if your fondness for
Cigarettes alone gave you that gifted
Lipwork around a man's shaft, but
Fuck me if it doesn't count. You were
everything from my late-night in-
Hand daydreams and so much
Better, whether I was pinned to the
Bed under your feral rise and fall, or you were
Giving it up from behind, eyes...
Haven't had it any better than fuck-
Me blue eyes and an ass that
Had me going just seated in my
Lap. I got you all day, with
Stamina that only nineteen and twenty-
Somethings know. I'm still un-
Sure if your fondness for
Cigarettes alone gave you that gifted
Lipwork around a man's shaft, but
Fuck me if it doesn't count. You were
everything from my late-night in-
Hand daydreams and so much
Better, whether I was pinned to the
Bed under your feral rise and fall, or you were
Giving it up from behind, eyes...
639 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
23rd Jan 2016 11:04pm
23rd Jan 2016 11:04pm
Withering
Have I got you fooled, or do you really feel you've got this all figured out? You think because we have years, because we had stress, because we shared lunches in the courtyard that I'm who I'm cracked up to be. I'm so thin because I'm held at a breaking point to starve myself. I wear black to feel safe and not stand out, though there's two sides to that razor. I haven't spoken since I learned it's just brutal and humiliating. I don't look, not because I can shoot death rays with my stare, but because I'm scared you'll catch me slipping up.
618 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
23rd Jan 2016 2:15pm
23rd Jan 2016 2:15pm
Waiting For
I don't have an excuse. Days, weeks, months spent shackled to the radiator that only I can feel. It's warm and comforting, and keeps me safe from the chill of the world outside. But these handcuffs aren't plastic anymore, they're cold and chrome like strangers in a supermarket giving bad advice. My wrists ache and tense with the buildup of struggled scars. The radiator won't turn on anymore. My skin is turning hypothermic, maybe panicked asphyxia blue. Dark matter is the void of broken capillaries where sit the two gradually greying embers of my eyes. If I am to die, let it be icy,...
688 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by Shoulderghost (Robb)
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