Deep in the woods of old

in silver winter and ebony stone,

The stark white maiden dances,

swaying to and fro.

Again and again,

around the ball room they go,

hands glued to another

and can never to let go.

The love, the hate

all only for show,

stuck in a madness

that only she knows.

Around and around,

with blood on her toes,

Ten years she has danced

with her sweet bestial foe.

Never she may

recover the glow,

of the soft satin features

she had long ago.

Fake is her love

that he seems to own,

to save her father,

is all she that hopes.

With candle and clock,

it's time that she owes,

to the horrible lover

that she barely knows.

The cracks in her skin

are starting to show,

stained by the tears

she shed long ago.

With fire and sword,

they trudge through the snow,

to save the fair woman,

who came from their home.

Up to the doors

bordered by stone,

the townspeople march

to recover their doe.

Perish they will

at the hands of their foe,

beaten down by beasts

from hell down below.

As the rose petals fall

her life will grow cold,

and forever she'll dance

atop her own shadow.

When the last petal drops

at the sound of the crow,

the maiden will perish

lost to the show.

Her corpse will be brightened,

by silver and gold,

long after she dies

she will still go.

Because Forever is forever,

when living in woe,

with the golden beast,

who lives in stone.

A girl in a dress, curls falling down her face

Looks up to the sky to see the stars dancing

A boy appears, eyes piercing and dark

Comes to a halt in front of her, toes touching

“Wendy, my love, let’s go for a ride.”

He grabs her hand and pulls her along

She stops and looks behind her and back up to the sky

The stars once happy and giddy

Suddenly winking and sly

Do the stars know all?

They must, for you see,

The stars are always the first ones to give up secrets

No matter how dark they may be.

She pulls her hand back and as tears appear in her eyes

One winking star looks down

Anxious for Wendy to heed

With a shaky breath she looks, and through the stars she sees

The light she thought she had lost,

Peering through the darkness.

“Are you really so blind?”

Wendy says, voice full of despair.

This boy who once stole this girl’s heart

Made her see things anew

Now angry and bitter

And staring in anger.

With the parting of hands, Wendy says her goodbyes,

“You are not who you were, and neither am I,

For we both lost ourselves and now it’s time to part ways.

You may stay here and continue this path,

But I must leave and take what I know.

You still have my heart, dear boy, but my life deserves to go on.”

And with a step she flies off into the stars as they happily usher her through

Towards the light that welcomes her once again.

The boy left staring and suddenly alone

Wipes away tears that have been absent too long

And with one last look to the sky

He boards his ship and sails off

With the flick of his hook and a wave goodbye.

call me

lucifer,

the itch in your mind

telling you it’s fine

to touch me

blame the wine and my

devilish hips,

too drunk to taste

the sin on my lips, i am

disposable sex,

scripture burned on my

chest

blame the skirt and my

stiletto heels,

too drunk to tell you

how it feels, call me

she-devil, siren,

vixen and shrew,

i am

asking for this with my

infernal flesh,

too drunk to say no

as you hike up my dress, you are

instinct’s victim

come sunday,

forgiven

blame the breasts and my

wicked thighs,

throw your sins on the women

who see past your lies, you are

the itch in my mind

telling me it’s fine

to touch me

blame the wine and your

fiendish claws,

too drunk to say no

as you tighten your jaw, call me

baby girl, angel

don’t make a sound,

i am

asking for this with my

devilish hips,

too drunk to taste

the sin on your lips, and you

call me

lucifer.

_________________________________________________________

* The word count is 300 but that's all I have to say, so here's a relative quote to fill the "quota" <:

“Suppose neutral angels were able to talk, Yahweh and Lucifer – God and Satan, to use their popular titles – into settling out of court. What would be the terms of the compromise? Specifically, how would they divide the assets of their early kingdom?

Would God be satisfied the loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while Satan to have the red-eye gravy, eighteen-ounce New York Steaks, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all night, no-holds-barred, nasty “can’t-get-enough-of-you” hot-as-hell-fucks?

Think about it. Would Satan get New Orleans, Bangkok, and the French Riviera and God get Salt Lake City? Satan get ice hockey, God get horseshoes? God get bingo, Satan get stud poker? Satan get LSD; God, Prozac? God get Neil Simon; Satan, Oscar Wilde?”

― Tom Robbins

I shouldn’t still be thinking about you whenever I

hear love songs. There shouldn’t still be electricity

in my fingertips or my pulse hammering in my

throat when I think about your mouth. I shouldn’t

be thinking about your mouth at all. I shouldn’t still

be daydreaming about the time you swallowed cherry

blossom petals just to send me over the edge, and I

haven’t stopped tying cherry stems with my tongue

since. Your name shouldn’t still mean magic, or

wonder, or someday. I shouldn’t still have your

hands memorized, or your sleeping patterns.

Maybe a year is enough distance to forget why

the door was always slamming, but it’s not

enough to forget late night conversations.

Maybe I only still think about you because I

know you haven’t managed to erase me either.

So maybe it’s true that time heals a lot of things,

especially when you put a thousand miles between

us, but bad timing doesn’t seem to stop my body

from going into overdrive at the mention of your

name.

Shed light? Ha! What a funny way to put it.

It's darkness- no way to shed light on why I can't get out of bed and I just have to sit.

Depression? Write about it, get likes, make it into a song

Unfortunately sadness is temporary and depression is life long

We give empty Sympathy towards depression, anxiety, and any other mental disease through social media just to be noticed

Shed light? Fucking help me then.

I came here out of curiosity after finding Prose on Twitter.

I stayed for this reason...it is a place for every sort of writer from the emotionally disturbed, the eccentric, the silly, the serious, the romantic, the almost suicidal,

the highly educated, the barely understandable, the "plain and normal", the boring,

the fun, the clever, the not so clever, the experienced, the inexperienced writer,

the old school, the new school, the rhymer, the non rhymer.

No one holds any prejudice here, no one judges, no race, no religion, no creed matters, gay or straight, God fearing or Satanist...everyone is welcome as long as they abide by one unwritten rule and that rule is be friendly, be supportive, be part of the community that is Prose.

Prose is that place you come to let it all out from the deepest darkest parts of your mind and the dustiest part of your heart, it is the place you come to when you want to whisper or when you want to shout.

Prose is all about what writing should be, it is a space to create, a safe place to be yourself.

And there are some damned cool people here, who become your friends and mentors.

I saw her sitting across the train one day, her hair gently swaying as the cart rocks back and forth. Her eyes furiously darting across a page, some bridal magazine i'd never heard of. I feel the empty feeling that i hadn't felt in so long again. Deep in the pit of my chest it ached as the memories of what I used to have ran through my head. So much time has passed...what I thought was a scar seems to be a thinly veiled wound still. It doesn't help much that I know its no coincidence that books in her hands. Should I say something? or just let this moment pass me by. My brain has been sent into a whirlwind of anxiety, regret, and the hollow ache that seems to only accompany a real love lost. As much as I want this rom com moment to play out, I know that it would only hurt the both of us. At least this way it's only me that will have to do the levee repairs. I suppose she looks happy enough, besides if I'm going off how much the last 3 years have changed me, we'd barely even recognize each other if we got to chatting. The train slowly comes to a halt. Doors slide open and she wanders out still reading that damn book, probably deciding on the one she wants. While I still sit quietly. My brain still running through the different lives I could have had, with a girl that doesn't even exist anymore...

Strangers mean a new beginning. I think that's what I like most about them. It's a blank slate; something you can never have again once you get to know somebody.

I like to watch people on the bus and imagine what their lives are like. Of course I could never truly know what the reality is for them, but it's nice to imagine. I wonder what they think when they see me. Is it possible they wonder the same thing? Or are they too self absorbed to notice their surroundings? Theres a saying that goes: we are the center of our own universe. It sounds rather lonely to me.

This past month I read the Great Gatsby. I learned how meaningless material wealth can be. It's truly human companionship that makes you happy. But all Gatsby had was Daisy, and she was empty.

The people we know can also become strangers over time. They change and we change and by the time we see one another again, we are two completely different people. Some days you can be a complete stranger to yourself. Aren't we all just strangers?

You will apparently meet less than 1% of the people living in this world. That means more than 99% of the people living around you, you will never know.

As you pass by people in the street, the only story you two will ever share is that one moment. And as you walk away, you leave their life entirely; until perhaps, another chance encounter.

She stomped out her cigarette on the cold concrete as the black sedan pulled into view.

The sun had set along time ago and the only people remaining on the streets were those who ran them and the ones who did their bidding. She was no exception.

Sauntering up to the vehicle she asked the man inside what she could do him for, she already knew the answer. 

Wordlessly he got out and she took his hand, leading him into room number three of the seedy motel she took all her clients to. 

He didn't say much but she didn't mind, it was better that way, he was just a number, a dollar sign.  

The lamp flickered as she took off her shirt revealing bruises, old and new. She wasn't beautiful; maybe she used to be, but the streets had taken her beauty and abused it, ground it down into scars and bruises and needle marks. 

He watched as she took her place on the bed and waited for him to follow, he did not long after.

Laying there on the cum stained mattress, convulsing back and forth, she wondered if he had a wife, kids. He probably did.

Tears formed in her dead eyes and she choked them back as the man grunted and finished.

He pulled a fifty out of his wallet, threw it on the bed and then was gone as quickly as he had came.

She reached for the bible on the nightstand next to her and opened it slowly. 

There was a time when these words meant something to her, or at least she had pretended they did. Forgive me father for I have sinned....

The tears fell as she shook her head and reached into the hollowed out book to pull out her favorite needle.

Maybe once she had believed in a God, but now... this was what she worshiped. She tied a belt tight around her bicep and waited for her veins to show themselves. 

Maybe tomorrow she would change, tomorrow she would go home, tomorrow...