Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

Names

by RoseKarma Quill-red

You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been the night of the rain storm or the morning after. But the way it flowed off his tonge was different. The E was filled with music and the R was scented with lavender. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to your forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone different voice. You didn`t need to even ask. You had realized he had started to say your name the way you sang his.                                                                                                                      You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been that awuful blizard ar the night after. But the way it flowed off his tounge was different. There was no more music in each vowel and your slyables were left with only the dying scent of flowers. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to yur forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone yet different voice. You didn`t even need to ask. You had realized he had stopped saying your name like you sang his.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Empty Or Full

by RoseKarma Quill-red

I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full. To be so full that your sides are bursting, that at any second your seams will split and all your saddness and hatred will spill out for the world to see. To be full to the point of pain. Wanting to let all your inner fullness out, but not knowing how to. Feeling as if everyone who walks by can see it spilling from your soul. Or to have nothing in you, your stomach and things arch inward trying to compensate for the emptyness in side. To not know how to react when you finally hear what you have been craving, bacuse you have closed your lid long ago.                                                                                                                                   I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

The Time He Would Never Leave

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"You can close your eyes to the things you don't want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you don't want o feel"

~Johnny Depp

You can close your eyes at his retreating form. You can close your eyes when you see him in the hallways. You can close your eyes and block out the image of him and that woman. However no matter how hard you try, you can't close your heart. Each word he whispered in your ear, each gentil brush of his fingers against your cheek. Each and every time he told you he would never leave. It eats at your heart. The condridictions of his words and his actions will kill you slowly. Your weak heart will always bring up the way his eyes looked right passed you as he told you "we're over." with no emotion. As if he didn't care. The way he holds his new girl, as if she is the only thing that matters. The way he never held you. Your heart will take this new images and fight them against the old ones. But you already know what will happen. Those old happy memories are tainted and weak, filled with lies and missgivings. The new ones will kill them and your heart will be filled with saddness, yet no matter how hard you try to close your heart you can't. The heart dosn't want to close, it still hopes against all odds that he will come back. Come back and hold you like he holds that other woman. But you know he won`t. And it`s all your hearts fault for stealing your hope. You know he won`t come back because your heart won`t let you forget each and every lie, of the time he would never leave.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Yet

by RoseKarma Quill-red

Yet, people never appreciate the power of the word. I personally think is one of the most powerful words in the english language. It can evoke such saddness while at the same time brightens someones day.

"We haven't broken up, yet."

"We haven't got toghther, yet."

                                      See the difference,

"We haven't broken up."

We haven't got together."

                                      it's pretty big.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Secret Scars

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"The difference between,

being a child, 

and now,

is that your mum would tend to your cuts.

Now you do,

but only after,

you create them."

~unkown

It's sick, but it's true. When we were little we would scrap our knees and cry. We would get in a fight with little Suzy and cry. But our mommys would come kiss it better, make us cookies and tell us it's going to be alright. And it would be. Our knees would heal, and little Suzy would share her cookies with us at lunch tomorrow. Now we cut our wrists and smile. We find out little Suzy slept with our boyfriend and smile. But our moms aren't coming to make it better, because they don't know about it. Nobody is going to kiss it better and cookies you make yourself just don't taste as good. But we clean up ourselves up, wash away the blood and kiss it better ourselves. Our wrists won't heal as we keep cutting them, and little Suzy isn't about to share the boyfriend she took.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Remember To Forget

by RoseKarma Quill-red

How fuckin backhanded. While telling me to remember, you want me to forget. You can't have one with the other. That's what I think that saying is about. The irony. The irony of trying to remember to forget. It's one of those things. Like the day you fell in love with that boy. The boy with the messy dark hair and pretty light eyes. You could never tell what colour they were, just as you could never tell if they were really looking into your soul like you felt they could. No matter how hard you try you can't forget the way he spoke your name the day after you started dating. The way he said your name during your first time, or the way he said it the morning after over coffee. You can't forget the way he would grab your hand during a thunderstorm, because no matter how much he denies it, he's terrified of them. The way he would stroke your hair to help you fall asleep, after he would sneek into your room at night. Then kiss the top of your head before he left. Just like the way you can't foget the bags under his pretty eyes the day he told you "we need to talk". You can't forget the way he wouldn't meet your eyes when he told you, you were beautiful one last time. You can't forget the crack in his voice when he said he can't do this anymore. No matter how many times you tell yourself to remember to forget, you still can't forget those eyes. You still aren't sure what colour they are, but you are sure now they were looking into your soul.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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