poetry portfoliooo newnew

8/7/2019 POETRY PORTFOLIOOO newnew

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1[table of contents]

About The Author Childhood Memory Poem Jessica Dead Metaphor Poem Camel Several Haiku News Photo Poem Doggy Bizarre Imagery Poem Fitting Playlist Poem Grim Imaginary Language Poem Friendship Stalker Poem Education Chance Poem Burning Foretold Bending Reality Poem Don Quixote Self in 2009 Poem Dependency Goofy Love Poem Disturbing Serious Love Poem Black Crystal Bird Violent Crime Poem An Exercise My Own Poem Phantom

For my creative writing poetry class, we had toturn in a portfolio at theend and this is mine. Iordered the poems byhow much I like them.My favorites start aroundBurning Foretold.


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2[about the author]

Will Carter is the illegitimate child of Thom Yorke and Edward Cullen. His

favorite condiments include salsa, soy sauce, balsamic vinegar, malt vinegar, and

mustard. It is rumored that he is, among other things, a second degree black belt, a

disturbed individual, a religious-official-in-training, and the ruler of the universe. His

hobbies include not eating beef, learning things he doesnt want to know, and worrying

about the general state of the world. His dreams occasionally predict the future, but

usually end in disappointment. In addition, he enjoys using transitions and talking about

himself primarily in the third person.

Before becoming an author, Carter supported organizations fighting suicide and

self-injury, and worked at an elementary school. His previous best-selling works include

The Real Yellow Pages , several Thesauri, and Wikipedia . He is now working on a

historical crossover romance/horror slash-fiction documenting the unsuccessful

relationship of Hermione Granger and Arthur Dent in the mid-18 th century.

Carter is currently accepting any college admissions letters or scholarships you

wish to send him. Carter enjoys concept albums, appetizer samplers, cheesy teen romance

novels, organizing things, and anime targeted at pre-teen girls. After overcoming three

murder attempts and a stubbed toe, Carter went on to become the world champion in

microwaving, minesweeper, and militant dictatorship, and will soon be competing in the

national pole-dancing semifinals.

Carter lives in Japan with his wife Emily, an animator for Pixar. During his spare

time, he works at Nintendo.


3/26

3[jessica]

Go on, eat it I gasped, begging,our illicit undertakingsmaking me jittery.Squatting amongst the clover, we eyedthe red fruit resemblingtiny strawberries.

She contemplated. Sun pierced through the trees

in the wild green sanctuary, just over the neighbors hill,

where we were forbidden to go,but inevitably wandered anyway.

They were probably poisonous.Or maybe just unsavory.Either way,they wentuneaten.

This poem wassupposed to be about achildhood memory thatwe had. I couldntreally think of anythinginteresting, so I used thisrandom little story thing.

Haha it's kinda funny, because my best friendfrom age 6 to about 12was named Jessica shewas my neighbor.


4/26

4[camel]

The dust from the roadmelded with the stubbleof his beard.Sun-baked sweat and tiredmuscles, and so much workto be done.Lucy clomped along beside him,always loyal.Three more farms,Two more,One.Wisps of gold flutter about.One more load, and thenRest.But wait! Lucys stopped!Slumped in the sand.

We were supposed to take acommon figure of speech andwrite a poem describing it, butnot using it. I chose to do thestraw that breaks the camels

back I dont really like howthis one turned out.


5/26

5[several haiku]

Distracted masses(Applications and homework)Pretend to listen

Electric outletsGod-given source of power Theyre always taken.

My email inboxSilent connection toUnknown mysteries

Stomach is growlingIt is almost time for lunchHungry nom nom nom

His pencil is smallHe uses it quite oftenTime for a new one

Herr Beck is a foolHe needs to check his emailOr else Ill get mad

Posters in windowPartially diffusing light

Fantastic wavelengths

Sarcastic commentsFloating through the stress-filled air Cannon students chat

Haunting every classBearing down from all the wallsAdaptive Experts

Strange marker personChanging your shape every dayWhat is your purpose?

Portal to light, warmthThrough you the masses will flee,Door to the hallway

Backpacks lay on the floor Discarded burdens and fearsI hate studying

A football poster Hanging apatheticallyOur school has spirit

White paper only,Says the green receptacle

Selective action

The Cannon cultureFull of abbreviationsProbs, maybs, go to cougs?

Yeah, for this one we were just supposed to write randomhaiku things. Some of themare more serious, while othersare funnier.


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7/26

[fitting]

Cannon School is like an intersectionWhere, one day, the past and the futureCollided when Past wasnt payingAttention and Futures brakes failed.

Twisted bumpers and broken glass,A mangled mess of modernityAnd posterity.

Fresh stickers label lockers 336 and334. Between them lies not 335,but a torn and faded 218, a silent protestof the new numbering system.

An empty, unused aquarium fromThree years ago squats in the commons.

The couches shun it, crowding aroundThe fireplace instead.

A small soccer ball sticks on the wall,Just below the fire alarm,A reminder of the spirit we used to have.

For this poem, we wanderedaround and wrote downimages or things that we sawthat seemed out of place,and then tried to make a poemout of it.


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[grim]

Give me Novocain before the lobotomy.Comfortably numb, bliss to the end.All mine.

An exchange,Not something for nothing.

I wish I was bullet proof.I wish I was invincible.Time is running out.

Poor fool, he makes me laugh.

Panic attack,Brain damage,Space dementia,

Hysteria, blackout.Save me.Thoughts of a dying atheist.

Silence,lost for words.Sorrow.

Thanks for the memories,Your time is up.

ThisIs

HowI

Disappear.

This one was madefrom song titles on myiPod. Hahaha, I used alot of depressingmusic in this one.


9/26

[friendship]

Symposing to perform music for othersPracticate to put off practicing.Choobs beginnersChooblet a small choob.Aughlemuffin an expression of distress.Necration the act or state of dying.Fluorate to wash.Feasturing to partake in large amounts of foodMeatery an eatery that only serves meat.Aldrigation a state of confusionAbrieve to shorten.Festoodles confettiBeer cat one in a position of power Gastrocity a bad meal.Quasipseudo not quite true.Bahwstish - with an accent.

Ballsando with potency.Staymey to educate in worldly matters.Cakery a place to partake in cake.Brary a place of learning.

Aughlemuffin! How can we sympose,if you keep practicating in a meatery!Feasture later, chooblets!Ballsando! Ballsando!The hour of our necration

Slowly approaches.The beer cats grow wearyof your cakery gastrocities.Who shall fluorate thefestoodles in the brary?These bahwstish abrievesleave me in aldrigation!Quasipesudo reality,I have not beenStaymeyed enough.

For this one, we first hadto make up a bunch of words that sorta soundedlike what they meant, andthen write a poem usingthem. Mine ended upusing a lot of in-jokes, butI thought it was prettyfunny.


10/26

[education]

Structured DiscussionsThats gonna be the radio hit.Its being really temperamental,But, I mean, it has paper.So, in other words,

Both of the answers.I love me some profanity,and I creeped on Taylor.You guys good for that?Do we all feel fine?Approximately.

Is this not where we were?Yeah I think so.The best part about it.Get all that, all that.

Now thats what I got.It kinda makes sense though.The guy on, um. this crazy thing.Okay, so, um, would you mind?

Whats up, man?Hey guysI had something to tell you.You look really cute today.Yeah, I agree, I agree.Thats the dumbest thing Ive ever heard.

Dude, Im grounded.Correct

His face, like, exploded.Oh my godIts because I ate it too fast.People do that.What? Why?Two things, two things.An egg, and a stick of butter.I dunno what youre talking about

Am I not a man?Maybs.

Whatd you get on your cell quiz?Did you get an A on the quiz?He didnt send out an email about it.Hell send it out,when you go to group discussion.

Hahaha this was the stalker poem.We wandered around and wrotedown random phrases that weheard, and then turned it into a

poem. I like this one I tried toorganize it so it gives a few brief glimpses into life at CannonSchool.


11/26

[burning foretold]

A silly thing, fun at my expense.Maximum of comfort for two thousand dollars.Keep the world happy and laughing.Only one way out, he whispers in your ear.Oh god, you silly fool.A salamander glimmering in the high darkness.Laughing.It sizzles faintly in the great hot emptiness.Laughing.A new sun.Laughing.I knew it I knew it I knew it.Did I tell you? Eventually, it might fall upon the city.Bing bing bing, yelling, laughing.The sick look on your face.Stone by stone, falling.

Darkness, yelling, laughing.And now?You fall and lay without moving.Another fever, a numbness.An old man yelling, Are you asleep in there?Youre a fool, an awful fool, an idiot.Last night?I dont know.The final push towards murder.Suicide and crying and awful feelings.A charred wax doll.

I knew it.But now I only hear laughing.

This one was really fun to make.We wrote out our birthdate in my

case, 10/01/1992, and then made asmany combinations of thosenumbers as possible (like 1, 2, 9,10, 11, 12, 19, 20, 21, etc.), andthen turned to those pages in a book (Fahrenheit 451 for me), and wrotedown a phrase from the top and the

bottom of the page. We then triedto use as many of those phrases as

possible in the poem. I really likedhow this turned out it almost has

a storyline!


12/26

[don quixote]surrounded by the lounging crowd,in formal dress and fancy suits,I sit awkwardly on a couch,as unfamiliar faces loom."enough!" I cry inside my head,as relatives unknown discuss

the newly married bride and groom."I'll have no more of this", I think,and wander off to find a spaceaway from all this wretched noise.

I come upon the snack table -a veritable feast of food.more types of cheese did reside therethan I had ever seen before.these cheeses are a varied lot,some orange, some yellow, white, or beige.

some came from cows, some came from goats,and some from dairy substitutes.they called to me so teasingly,"you cannot eat us all," they chide.enraged, I challenge them and claimthat I could eat them any day.

with trusty crackers as my sword,and napkin serving as my shield,I plunge into this deadly testof perseverance, strength, and wit.the cheeses are quite sinister -they will resort to any trick,like hiding jalapeno bombs(whose poignant flavors burned my tongue),or crumbling quickly out of reach.alas, I fight them, one by one,a vicious clash of cheese and sword(my vorpal blade goes snicker-snack!)I send those snacks right to their grave.

I dive and slash and stab and slicethey counter quite evasively.

but bit by bit, and piece by piece,I vanquish daring dairy foes.my arms are spiderwebbed with scars,the floor is strewn with their debris.a murky dust covers the room,the ghosts of cheeses slain in war.I promptly walk up to the bar,victoriously, I buy a sprite.

This was supposed to be abending reality poem we were to take a normalevent, describe it, and thenslowly have it get more andmore surreal. I had a lot of fun with this one, writing inIambic Tetrameter.


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14/26

Maybe the song should be reflective,and talk about my trek through life.It could describe how Ive grownand changed who I am, and whoI call my friends. But describingmy life would be difficult.

My life is a patchwork quiltof clichs and in-jokes,delightfully metaphorous,self-aware and dramaticallyironic.

No, the lyrics shall be romantic.I want to write the song for her.About her. Because of her.I love her.I love her I love her I love her.

I want this to be the song that, inforty years or so, teenagers will playto express how absolutely and completelyin love they are. I want it to be the songthat couples will slow-dance to at prom,

pressing their bodies tightly together andslowly getting lost in each others eyes,unaware of the crowd around them.I want the song to say everything I wish I could,if only I had the courage.

Maybe I should write a whole album.Itd probably be a concept album,with a complicated structure andmulti-part songs. It would have order.I crave order, but live in the indecision,the unsure and the unspecified.I want control and meaning, butam left with chaos and discord.

I really wish I knew howto write a song.


15/26

[disturbing]

The fire that burns in your eyesslowly roasts the rotisseriechicken that is my heart.You season it with mysoul-sauce, devouringmy existence.

Like a bleached-white seagulldarts into the ocean to snatcha fish, you have snatchedmy attention. Flopping inyour beak, I gasp for water.

I follow you down thehallways, like a shadow,or a dog seeking one last

scrap of flesh.

Explosive and dynamic, youvehit me like a small nuclear warhead your smile is probablyprevented by the Geneva convention.

Your scent is like a drug to me.Im a washed-out heroin junkie,and you crawl through my veins.Paycheck to paycheck, I live

for you.

I want to be with you forever.Our love will outlive the cockroaches.When the universe dies, we canCarve out its chest, and buildA nice home inside the ribcage.

This was supposed to be agoofy love poem, but it endedup being sorta disturbing, haha.Oh well. I got the idea for thelast two lines from the EndersGame books, in the Mind Gamething, where he kills the giant

and builds a home inside of it.


16/26

[black crystal bird]

Thatched roof breaks the snowy skyline,Frost-coated windowpanes,Surrounded by gray.Clumps of black pines fadeWith dusk into wintersong.

My body is a cage,Skeleton of ice,

prisoner to the chill.Papyrus skin delusional,My mind protests in glorious shudders.

Woolen sheets anchored to straw mattress,Dirt-brown floor below.Loneliness,Cobwebbed in the corners.

Blizzard of isolation,The horizon looms bleak and unforgiving.Wretched havoc of night!Ghosts of memories smother

(I long for your embrace)my quickened breath.

In the hearth, an ember smolders.Delicate smoke rings gentlyDance upward to oblivion.

Glowing proclamation to theVibrant child-like innocence of yesteryear!(for you i carry on)

Laying open on the wooden desk,well-thumbed volume of lore.Tales of dragons, sailors, empires.Blood-velvet tassel marksThe story of the huntsman.

Fleets of hounds and foxes, Noble steeds and noble men.The thrill of the chase,Pitfalls, close calls,Mead-soaked celebration.

(shivering page-turns.)

This one was supposed to be aserious love poem, but I guess its

also a little disturbing. I wrotethis one while I had a fever. The basic storyline is supposed todescribe me in bed in a cottage,dying of illness, waiting for Emily to return. At one point, Istart to read some fantasy story(very Narnia-ish), and imagineher as the good heroine personwho saves everyone from thecold, which represents my illness.


17/26

The next days fate bodes ill.A white witch ensnares the party.Frosty coat of ice,Steel-eyed malice.

Midnight monstrosities rip and tear At her command.Snow-crusted doom looms eminent,When in the distance a trumpet sounds.

(hands clammy with excitement.) From the black forest erupts aPillar of flame.Bright lady of passion rides proud,Confronting the witch.

Catastrophic battle of fire and ice,Legendary rivalry made real.Blood sizzles through the slush.

Slowly but surely, flame prevails.Ice melts to the void,Demon-dogs flee.Huntsmen stand in awe,Paralyzed by beauty.

Her gold-fire hair cascades,

Orange and magnificent.Honesty and truth her cloak and shield,Love her sword.Light-burning goddess of wonder,I long for your embrace!Melt my icy skeleton and sins,A baptism by fire.The sparks in your eyesIgnite my soul.Through misery and frost,Through cold and despair,

FOR YOU I CARRY ON.


18/26

[AN EXERCISE IN HEAVY-HANDED PARODY AND MISANTHROPY](THE AMERICAN DREAM.)

(i) The Culture(Sold my soul for a quarter.)

How can I help you?

Glazed eyes and a poorly-suppressed sigh conveyed That however much they were paying her for this,

It clearly wasnt enough.

Bang! Boom! Crash!Violence! Action! Sex!A vicarious summer, ten bucks a pop;

branded merchandise soon to follow.All youll need,all youll ever need.Save for the hotly-anticipated sequel.

Metallic behemoths, hot chicks.Cinematic excellence, ADD culture.A match made in heaven.Even better are the wide-screen,crystal-clear HDTV monstrosities.Infinite channels of nothing,a wasteland of raw emotion.

Her hair fell brown-black in carefully casual waves,Waves parted by stylishly retro rectangular glasses.

Eyeliner, applied in a trendy scene style, rimmed

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams.

Glorious lifelines, those earplugs, pumping manufactured angst.Provocative female vocals compliment

phat synths, catchy beats, and forgettable lyricsabout this breakup or that affair.Dance/pop replaced hip-hop,alt-rock after emo-whine.Ironically angsty artistic faded,succeeded by whatevers danceable.

To hate myself or to hate the world?Or just to screw it, drink, and party?Music for all.I go for the punk and the classic rock.The Green Day and the ACDC.Institutionalized disrespect, prefabricated chaos.This is my culture.


19/26

Drink after drink of caffeine buzz Shouted at me from the chalked blackboard.She sighed, fingers impatiently drumming On the faux-marble counter-top.She glances at me, at the register.

Impatience, boredom.

So deliciously ironic.

Books are a more sophisticated delight.Still untainted by the ignorant masses,they offer their subtle pleasures.The classic psychological twistsare my favorite, of course.1984, Animal Farm,love me some George Orwell.House of Leaves owns my soul.My darling Lolita, princess of darkness.

Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies.But most of all, Fight Club,the idolized masterpiece.Pain to feel alive,

paying for the right to live.

(ii) The People(When in Rome.)

I scanned the menu once more, testing her patience. Her glazed glance turned to a glare. Inhaling the sharp scent of coffee grounds, I picked my poison.

Jeers and taunts ring like merchants hawking wares.Cliques fill the hallways like circles of demons.The jocks and their cheerleaders,the preps, the Goths, the artsy drama kids.

Nerds, gangsters, druggies.Rich and poor, black and white,

separated by increasingly visible lines.An ancient and unchanging power-structure,otherworldly forces assigning each his place.Dont rock the boat,or else we might drown.A biblical flood, a cleansing disaster.


20/26

I dug through my pockets, never breaking eye contact.Coins clanked onto the counter.The drinks here are ridiculously overpriced,

And a Tall is the least tall thing I have ever seen.

These kids, they get high, they get drunk.A cocktail of malice, complete with prescriptions.The over-diagnosed, the over-exposed,generation of lost hope.Well-wishers in comfy offices speak of paranoia, schizophrenia, ADHD.Depressed, anorexic, bipolar.Chemically unbalanced,mentally unstable.These are my people.

Everyone must be fixed.If only they knew.But if a pill cures all,and a drug molds personality,then who are we, really?

I watched as she moved to the machine. Easy-listening music floated from the speakers.My shoulders ached from the weight of the backpack.She glanced back at me, and I was still staring at her.

I am better than them, and I know it.They mock me, but their cries mean nothing.

Nothing.People today are stupid, lifeless.Just drones, cogs in an endless machine.They wouldnt know life unless you took it from them.I was smarter than all of them, more logical,more refined.I saw through this mess,this objectivist nightmare.I would come as a savior,

a shepherd of the sheeple.I would judge the quick and the dead.A bit of social turbulence, thats all.A spark for the revolution.Our own Project Mayhem.Bring corporate America to its knees.


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(iii) The Incident(No cry for help.)

She handed me my drink.Intimidated by my stare, her eyes darted to and fro.Finally, I released her.I turned around, a table in the corner my lonely destination.My pace quickened as I neared my sanctuary,my kingdom, my freedom.The lone chair invited me, calling for meto sit in it, to fulfill its destiny.I passed yuppies sitting,typing on their MacBooks.

Probably writing pretentious poetry.God, I hate poetry.I hate art. I hate culture. I hate the philistine barbarians who have destroyed cinema andsymphony. I sat down in the chair and stared again at the barista oh God, her eyes. Shereminded me too much of that one girl, that oh so wonderful girl from my algebra classwho was so terribly out of my range, and knew it, and flaunted it, making out with thatugly imbecile of a jock she called a boyfriend yes, she would have to go, and what ashameful thing it would be, for she had such pretty eyes. I placed my backpack on thefloor beside me, reached inside of it, felt around, searching for my creation, mytreasure I had made it at Sams house, with stuff that I had stolen from the chemistrylab they had all kinds of explosive stuff in those cabinets, and I would just sneak some

home with me each day until I finished it. And now I would finally get my opportunity touse it, to set things right, to improve the world to reach my destiny as a savior, a hero, asaint, a martyr I would be remembered for this I would make it into the headlines, theevening news. I envisioned the scene in my mind, watching the reactions of the peoplearound me; that old man, he wont know whats going on, but that lady over there has achance, and she might be able to escape I could almost feel the blast now, I couldalmost hear the explosion, this was turning me on. But I must calm myself. I mustnt losecontrol. This all had a purpose. I knew what I was doing. Social upheaval. Yes. Fear,terror, chaos. Yes. Sticking it to the man. Yes. I can do this. I am your one true fear, your one true enemy. I am Legend, the Jesus of Surburbia, the savior of the damned, ironman,the waiting. I am the unwanted, the unwashed, the uncared for, the slumdog, the

underdog. I am the chosen one, the Muaddib, the beast behind the wall, the walrus. I amyour father, the kids your parents warned you about, invincible, a freak, a weirdo, thefinal solution. I am the last fragments of soul burning through your dead eyes. I am thatlast gasp for breath before everything fades to blackness. I am the sickening feeling inyour gut as you realize the breaks are failing. I am the alpha and the omega, the creator and the destroyer. I am the way the world ends.Three.Two.


22/26

One.

(iv) The Reaction(Empathy is a lost cause.)

Did you hear what happened?That Kyle kid?

Yeah.He was always such a freak.

I never liked him.He looked sorta gay.

I always knew he would go crazy.I mean, did you see the way he acted?

He was such a creeper.Remember that time

Yeah! Oh God.

He used to stare at me all the time.Jerk.

He was always pretty weird.I pushed him down the stairs once.

Ha I stole his lunch a few times.Loser.

The other day, he told me to watch the news.Why? Really?

I dunno, I guess he was trying to make the headlines.Wow

Whatever.

This one was REALLY fun to write. We weresupposed to find a news article about a violentcrime and then write a poem about it. I didmine about some kid who, inspired by Fight Club , decided to bomb a Starbucks.


23/26

[the phantom]

in this instant, I steal your soul.

the fall of man,or the rise of sanity?

the sun rises.a city scene, perfectly happy.oh, unreal city!a row of pretty perfect homes perched in a row,housewives bustling contently,

businessmen off at work.the clock chimes,the sun sets.these are the wasted days.

far up in the ancient tower,

surrounded by his whirring clockwork masterpiece,the phantom watches.nothing disturbs his observations,save the marking of the hour.

a table laden with golden drinks,a room shining with smiles and jewelry.a woman sips wine at her table,floating in the easy tension of the evening.the magician takes the stage,a paragon of trickery and deceit.

a white dove emerges, drawn from his black hat. black and red cards emerge, drawn from his black hat.he smiles a convincing smile, leading the audience along,down a narrow trail of deception.his sly charisma, it fools us all.

your eyes that burn with jade firehide endless pain and desire.the trick is telling them apart.

clouds of the dust of ages past obscures our vision,

but is not the blindness of ignorance a greater threat?call up your scholars, historians, critics, visionariesand see the best that they've got.disappointed yet? if not,you're not looking hard enough.


24/26

the man stands, cloaked in black,like lightning, his pale eyes flash.the knife slides in slowly.his job is done.silently he mounts his steel horse,a mass of throbbing metal and pulsing muscle,

and rides off into the piercing rain.

the sun rises.a mountain scene, perfectly clear.a river of endless blue,rows of brittle pines,rocky slopes, and crisp fresh air.wind winding down the valleygently caresses the treesas I caress your hand.the sun sets.

oh, these days that are bothfar too long and far too short.

the phantom sighs. black, red, white, goldan endless swirl of colors.this is my mind, faded around the edges.

wind winding around the fortress walls,stirring up clouds of dust,

probing for a weakness, searching.

there is no end in sight.

in the dark,no one can hear you scream.in the dark, you can only see so far.limited foresight,limited hindsight,a shaded perception.

halfway down east 17th street sits a small cafe.a woman sips her coffee at a table,

scanning faded lines of a half-forgotten novel.smoke rises, circling above her head.in the narrow cobblestone trail,a white dove pecks at wind-scattered crumbs.the women sets down her cup, enlightened.tossing her cigarette over her shoulder,the woman departs.


25/26

the demon leans in closer. pain is for the weak,she scoffed with a glint in her eye.I cannot take this any more.a small incision is all that's needed,

the poison drips in slowly.I cannot take this any more.one small bite and down you go:the red-eyed twin-demons of fear and deceithave had their fill.I cannot take this any more.the queen sits cold, broken.her blank canvas marred,her fears unspoken.She cries, her tears reflected in the silver mirror.

here I sit in my sanctuary,the eye of the storm.half-forgotten treasures, sleepy pauses.you are by my side.however, not all are pleased.the crowds seek excitement, anger, violence.their screams echo in the distance,their firebombs approach.

the sun rises.a row of pretty perfect homes perched in a row --

shouldn't there be more than this? --manifest their owner's delight.the wind howls, the clouds change.a mountain fog approaches.the darkness falls in slowly,overcoming each one.the sun sets.these are the end-times.

the clock chimes in the dead of night,its silver peal ringing through the air.

the black boot thrusts downward.choking, gasping.his pale eyes beg,why have you forsaken me?silence.now he knows all the tricks.the phantom departs.


26/26

the sun rises.tongues of flame leap into the sky,

slowly burning the perfect houses.smoke rises, circling above the city.embers, ash, envy, rage.destruction creeps down the street,demolishing all in its path.the phantom surveys the land, and mourns -a world both dead and alive with fire.as the last charred timbers sink into the debris,the clock chimes.the sun sets.this is the way the world ends.

you see this?? I can be this.this is what I shall become.

Yeah, I wrote this one a long time ago.Anyway, it was really allegorical andsymbolic, and stood for a bunch of random people/stuff going on in my life.I really like it.

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