If I stayed very quiet, and listened very hard, I could hear the busy bustle of the streets outside. I liked to pretend I was out there, laughing with a group of friends maybe, or enjoying a cup of tea in a cafe.
I looked at a painting of a landscape. I'd painted it to look like the streets of London, as if I was looking at it from my basement room. I heard the click of the cellar door and turned around just as my bedroom door opened. Diavolo knocked on the door frame, though I didn't see the point since he'd already opened the door.
"How are you this evening Fiore?" He asked in a smooth tone.
"Oh, is it evening? I wasn't aware." I made a
A little bitter, aren't we? by CityLightning, literature
Literature
A little bitter, aren't we?
A: Over here.
B: Ah, there you are. Stunning as ever, I see. {He sits down.} You -
A: Shut up.
A WAITER appears, seemingly out of thin air.
A: Black coffee, milk and two sugars.
B: Coke, thanks.
He nods, and vanishes.
A: So what took you so long to show?
B: School. Well, you know how it is; not all of us are completely adept at playing truant whenever we feel like it, you know.
A: It's a waste of fucking time. No-one bothers.
B: No-one you know. And so says the boy sitting sulky in a dark corner with a - frankly dazzling - shiner.
A does not respond, and avoids eye contact, scowling down at the gleaming tabletop. B gives up on wait
When that boy left, he left Mama a wreck. She sat in that creaky old kitchen rocker, her thin hair disheveled above clammy, transluscent skin, her black, birdlike eyes glittering like beetles, sunken and strange in her pale face. She moaned whenever anyone passed, but without looking at them, her hands in frantic and mechanical motion knitting row after row of snarled thread. "I let that boy into my house!" she muttered. Occasionally she would get up and pace back and forth across the kitchen, restlessly wiping at various surfaces with a greying little dish towel clutched in her bony fingers.
Then Joey and I
The Secret of the Universe by KingoftheWorthless, literature
Literature
The Secret of the Universe
I live in a cage staring through the dark.
Smoking a cigarette, the same butt for years.
Playing the same guitar, same song,
as the secret of the universe was trembling under me.
Someone is talking to herself it seems.
My call reflects back in my arms with nothing.
So I'm losing it, am I?
Personal friend don't be shy.
Haven't seen a face for years.
What dose yours look like?
Dose it resemble mine?
Did they stick you in the dark too because you weren't working right?
I am the cage, or at least it feels like it.
Smoking a cigarette, the same butt.
Playing the same guitar, same song,
and I suspect the secret of the u
Lips met in clumsy haiku,
against each other, pressed,
the way the earth touches the sky,
soft and whimsy as the dusk.
Tongues painted passion-
sunset colors,
halcyon atmosphere, infused,
-upon every awaiting space offered.
Metaphors dotted the hallows of limbs and tasted like the seasons-
a bursting and vibrant spring,
a hot and passionate summer,
"Don't want to be an American Idiot!" The rough voice bellowed, gloved hand wielding a ladle that Matt all but jammed his lips to, singing away without a care in the world. For all the fucks he gave, that ladle really could've been a microphone. And the drunken slurs coming out of his mouth? Those sounded like fucking rock and roll to his blood rushed eardrums, head filled with cotton as he pivoted on his heel and sang away, near stumbling over the empty bottle of vodka on the floor. To his right, the stereo kept blasting away, Billy Joe's sexy voice singing Holiday carrying across the apartment and likely pissing off the neighbors, if Matt's