Waning Heart~Waning Heart~Waning Heart by J-Goth
She's my heart,
She gives me life from my chest,
To the tips of my toes and back,
To my brain where there's nothing but static,
All I ever wanted was to know what I wanted,
To make sense of my thoughts,
The night terrors plague me,
When I forget how fragile life is.
I want to be free,
Afraid to play a role in my own ruin,
I feel something biting me that I cannot shake,
A stinging, throbbing pain,
All I ever dreamed of was to usher this heart into a future,
One worth wanting and not paying the price,
Regretting not reaching for it when it was close,
My heart is just as silly as the fantasy,
To which I retreat so as not to remember where I am,
I cannot fool me,
Trying to find answers,
I don't know what to tell myself,
She's getting irritated because she's in pain,
I don't know how to stop it,
She will never trust me again.
Waning Heart © J-Goth/Amanda P.
Wanting~Wanting~Wanting by J-Goth
I want you to smell like me,
Those reminders of me all over your neck,
and your feet,
I'll bring the blood to the surface of your pale white skin,
kiss you hard enough to leave bruises nice and big,
I want to feel your heart beating,
under my tongue,
eyes like the sun shining upon the trees of a misty forest,
body eager for my assault,
fresh out the cocoon,
you're gone when I open my eyes,
I don't remember being so greedy,
but I devoured what you left,
can't grow anymore,
Wanting © J-Goth/Amanda P.
Extol~Extol~Extol by J-Goth
On the ascent through life you climbed upon small victories,
You were tight rope walking on a thread over all of your fears,
You didn't have to go far,
Your wrong steps had you scattered everywhere,
You pulled yourself back together every time,
Continued on your way, but in a different direction,
I didn't know how close I got, in the beginning,
You could have set yourself on fire and I would have burned,
What inhibited the ability to think was the same as what inspired the dreams,
I didn't want to lose it, but the closer I held on to it, the smaller it became,
It's a shame that I'm so fickle, embarassed for the simple things that I miss,
The little things that we long for when the other is away just to feel as though you were there,
What do we have to show for how hard we fought?
Your ephemeral body, your transient presence like vapor through my fingers,
It's all the same,
Now there is a hole,
I will not contort in pain, memory serves me well to keep you her
Without Fear~Without Fear~Without Fear by J-Goth
The heroine of love is a guillotine, she bites his tongue,
He could not hold a candle to her, what with the way she built his empire,
Murdered by beauty, her red smile steadfast in the battlefield,
Her touch could melt gold, despite having found that blood could tell lies,
She's brazen and fine, bold and wise, her footsteps bloom warriors in their wake,
It rains sometimes, on her darkest days, she could conjure storms if she wanted to,
Forgiven for the time he kept her in a cage, with gratitude he never let her feet touch the ground.
Without Fear © J-Goth/Amanda P.
Wrapping PresentsThe bronze bot awoke from his stasis with a gasp and he could feel the oily tears on his face. He waited a few moments before releasing a small puff of steam from his lips. It was just a dream, he wasn’t in the vault and he was safe.Wrapping Presents by GracefulWitch
He carefully sat up and recalled it was Christmas Eve! He had needed a stasis nap since he stayed up from excitement yesterday. He got out of bed, dressed in his blank pants and black t-shirt for now. He put his hat on his head and giggled to himself before leaving the room.
“Hatchworth?” Peter VI called.
Hatchy looked to his left to see Peter the Sixth walking down the hallway. “Oh, hello.” Hatchworth smiled.
“There you are, you excited for Christmas?” Peter questioned.
“I suppose.” Hatchworth shrugged.
“I saw you working on something this week.” Peter mentioned.
“Oh...it’s just something for the others and my brothers.” Hatchworth mumbled.
Peter nodded and Hatchworth walk
A Yulemas Carol - chapter 4A Yulemas Carol - chapter 4 by BeetheGatekeeper
“Hatchworth?” cried Peter. “Hatchworth!”
He looked around. He was sure it was Walter Manor, but it was so dark… He couldn’t even see the glow of lights down the halls.
As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in the entrance hall.
“Spine?” he called. “Rabbit? Paige?”
The darkness seemed to absorb his voice.
“Anyone?” he cried, his voice shrill in the darkness.
There was a noise outside the front doorway.
“They’re gonna tear this place down, freak!” shouted a guttural voice.
Peter ran outside. Some teenagers were throwing eggs at the house. He could just see their silhouettes in the light from their car headlamps.
“Get out of here!” he shouted, though he didn’t know whether they could hear him. Where was everyone?
They jumped into their car and drove away, the tires kicking up bits of torn grass, visible in the bright moonlight.
“I’m calling the cops, you little jerks
|Someone once critiqued the way that I write my poetry's subject and narrator. For the most part, I write using "I", "you", "we", "he", "she", and "us". This is just the I try to make the connection between my work and readers. The "we" could be you and me, or the "I" and "you" could be from your point of view directed towards someone you love, or someone you hate, or someone who hurt you. Making this connection is important to me. I've always written with the intention of making people feel something.|