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Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

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Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

Poetry

Literature

letters on leaving.

i wrote my first suicide letter in 10th grade. they told me it didn't count if you felt like dying unless you had it down on paper like a vetoed birth certificate. i've rewritten it enough times since to realize i could never leave with a proper goodbye. goodbye is too heavy a word for paper to hold and i was never brave enough for the kind of courage it takes to tell them why. why they weren't enough to keep me here. but i'm finally learning a different kind of bravery- the kind it takes to stay. stay. i learned to wear death like rope burn my junior year my senior year we became friends but i finally stopped cutting the insides of wrist

Literature

This Is Not A Prayer

God I write this to you, This is not a prayer Not such an inconsequential waste of air, No, no I can hardly breathe From on all the prayers Wasted on your ears, Nor stand... From how long I've knelt at your feet. This is a letter Sent from a grieving sinner Written Whilst still clutching the hand You stole from him From me. Two hands ,in fact, One so small I hardly noticed When it ceased clutching me. I write this to ask Not to pray As prayers seem to have no worth to you Surely not mine at least. I ask only That you return them to me. Let me clutch these hands So tightly Till they might return my grasp. Because as I am right now I dou

Literature

Depression

Trapped in darkness, Like a tiny box closing in, choking me. They call it nothing, But we few sufferers call it depression, A black gaping hole in our lives, They call it attention seeking, we call it life

Poetry

Literature

nailed to the counter

fivey eyed the barn door, her right forearm tingled with a quite familiar burn, it informed her tone: "you nannys ain't dealin' proper. i had hoped this would stay above-board, but if you wanna wake snakes, let's frolic!" her right arm shot out, glowing energy pulled three armed men through splintering wood; the barn creaked and the men screamed as their bodies were dragged across the dirt before being launched out the far wall. fivey stomped her left foot; the two shotguns trained on her slithered, hissed, and— with both barrels— bit the two closest men in their necks. her right foot slid behind her in a perfect half-circle,

Literature

Where Nothing Dares Settle

we assume the fish that appears to advance without moving does so, effortlessly; as if the sea itself merely wills them forward we long to swim like this to hold our position in the universe while the earth churns its oceans past, as if its motion were ours and perhaps it might be if we could only comprehend how much lag truly resides in the linkage between space and time, then we'd know water like it knows us our ins and outs and the low places where nothing dares settle for long we'd know why sleep evades when we're most spent, as memories older than our own activate, once we traverse a certain set proximity

Literature

Sound Carries Near a Salt Flat

the noise of a dying man is that of a humpack whale reverberating across the desert thermocline, tunneling between the dune and the horizon. he whines, low, not loud, but it surrounds us; ocean pressure straining at the sides of a submerging ship. the harpoon head of the frag bomb burns in his leg - flesh irreparably breached - as that groaning calls navigation signs to some unknown counterpart far across the sand. I can swear to you he will be gone in forty-eight hours from the sepsis if medical can't make it to this fucking shelled-out excuse for a town by tomorrow evening. I give a sedative still, his cries carry like those son

The Black Dawn: Chapter 10

The-Red-Tower

Published: Oct 26, 2012

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Description

The tenth chapter of my National Novel Writing Month book, The Black Dawn. One of the longest chapters posted yet, and it has a few of my most and least favorite moments in it, and I almost wish I could rewrite a lot of it, just to make it flow better, and fix some scenes. This one will likely have some major overhaul done when I edit (someday).
Copyright © 2013 Joshua Fuller
All rights reserved.

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