Teenage-Writers

Lighting the cigarette Staring at all the couples around me thinking about what could have been The woman sashaying down the dance floor towards another man Him kissing her passionately, like nothing else matters When you have that kind of romance, nothing does Smoking the cigarette A man and woman, hands entwined, make their way into the bar An elegant ring sits on her finger and one on his as well They don't make a move to kiss, but they don't need to You can tell their in love anyways Ordering the drink Two men are sitting at the back booth Their smiling at each other, hands openly held across the table People stare and they don't seem

I saw you in the morning light, you were my dawn, lit up my world for just a second a fractured reflection in the glass. I saw you again showing up around a corner so unexpected I almost dropped to my knees in awe. So they say you are new in town that you have come a long way handed from hand to hand handed from day to day. My breath stuck to my throat your image forever burned in the back of my mind. Regret of having to leave you behind again. How can one even shine so bright? Everywhere you turn heads, people stare, people touch. They can't believe you're real. So soft to feel You hold a world of womanly desires in your palm. Our A

You're sitting in your parents' old corvette (if you had bothered to check, you'd know it was older than you), flicking your eyes between a lighter in one hand, and a box of matches in the other.  You forget when fire became such a need, a distraction.   Spencer is right beside you in the car, his fingers stroking idly at your forearm, watching you with hooded green eyes.   "If you want to die," he says, "then just kill yourself, but do it with style." Pause.  Rewind. You met The Boy Under the Sycamore Tree when you were four.  Your mom encouraged you to go see the lonely boy, and when you

 I couldn't get the blood out of my bathtub. I had poured every cleaner I could possibly find, mixing together bleach and ammonia and soaps and draino and mild acids. I scrubbed until my fingers were numb. But still, the spot was there. The blood had pooled around the drain in the tub and dried that way. It wasn't a bright red puddle anymore, not like it had been when Nikkie's head was still there. It was a dry, crusty brown spot, dark and ugly against the light porcelain of the tub. It was like a rust on a scalpel, a cancer eating away at an otherwise healthy skin sample. Maybe it was being trapped in that bathroom for so long, scrubbin

She was beautiful. She looked up at him with those wild, dark brown eyes that highlighted her expression. Waves of black hair framed her ageless face. She was smiling her calm, composed smile, so full of love. Her body fit perfectly in his arms as he held her. They were lying down on the grass, enjoying the evening sun. His heart felt light as he gazed back at her. Slowly, she raised her elegant fingers and outlined the features of his face. Closing his eyes at her touch, he felt an inexplicable kind of divine happiness wash over him. For over two years, he had the opportunity to belong to a wonderful woman, whom he loved more than life its

Feverish glares warm sugar smile crooked but gentle Soft hands feathery touch wrinkled but barely Stormy oceans thudding thunder silent but displaced secret dates muffled giggles whispering but serene Sunny presence rainbow tears flowing consolation growing love discovered source cultivated but with care carmine-dead rose blushy cheek savory perfume but not for me. Stolen heart broken part handful songs still belongs yet not to me.

Sixteen years ago you sweetly said to me, "I do." Fifteen years ago, our child was born to us. I trusted you, you know? You knew I never was given love like I deserved. Nine years ago my health went south. Eight years ago I couldn't even leave bed. You told me it was ok. You told me you would take care of me. Four years ago you got promoted. Four years ago you met her. I tried not to see it. I thought nothing of it. Four years ago you said it was over. Four years ago you said you didn't love me. You said because I couldn't clean. You said you would have fired me long ago. Three years ago she cost you your job. Three years ago you

An empty room, An extinct fireplace. A Why? A How? No because. No answer. I sit alone while my eyes dance with the shadows. The wind blows outside, Myself wishes to be swept away by him. It is so strong it scares me, I whimper. The snowflakes that will never fall, The candle that will be worn off. That's Christmas…. Right? The presents that were already open, So the children could have their happiness. The food that was barely touched, So that grownups can have their party. That's Christmas, isn't it? The mistletoe that was ignored. The smiles that are never real. The broken families; That's Christmas. The "I wanna

 I am not Santa Claus. To be more precise, I am not a figment of the human imagination created for the enjoyment for children. I was created with the divine purpose to save, protect, and cleanse those I love. I did not have the privilege of being born in a family with elves and reindeer awaiting my birth with gumdrops and candy canes overflowing my cradle in celebration. My bed was made of hay, with the smell of cow manure wafting under the noses of my loving parents. As a man, I did not have the pleasure of riding in a golden sleigh and landing atop roofs adorned with blinking lights. As I recall correctly, I mostly traveled by foot, we