Unbiased--Opinion

 Dear coke can, You’re the only thing that remains consistent in my life. You sit on my desk and stare. You know, sometimes I think you’re lucky. If I sat on a shelf all day, people would pick on me. Then again, I don’t think I’d be a very nice drink. And I can’t see a diet me. It’s an odd thought. Dear coke can, I can’t believe you’re still there. How the hell can you stand having to watch us all day? Being forced to overlook us humans and not having the power to shout at us? No, maybe you’re not so lucky. But still, at least people like you. At least there’s a sugar-free vers

 Streets aren’t empty at night… I wonder how many people know that. You see, when the sun trades the sky with the moon, it takes all the light with it. But light is merely a shadow of the joy unseen by you sleepers. As consciousness is stolen by the moon, room is left for creatures in the dark. And if you happened to look out of the window at night, what would you see? A dream collector, big and friendly? A monster [or so you like to call it] to steal your children? No. Because the truth is, you humans are blind. And that’s the way it will always be. In storybooks, there is one night of the year when the grey sha

 i could never describe the rising panic in the pit of my twisting stomach when that mass of sticky gunk gets stuck between my teeth the horror that washed over me. it was so strong, like a tsunami wave. a wave so warm and so reassuring. decieving me into thinking i would be entering a blissful heaven of food. and when i least expected it, BANG. it would grip my throat and choke me. dragging me downwards, forcing me beneath waves of heating terror pulling me with an immense amount of force, bright spots appear in front of my eyes, i manage to splutter through filling lungs. the liquid fear consumes my insides. i can

82- and that was that. You were my bittersweet symphony, the sweet poison in my chocolate. and i loved you. I loved you so fucking much. 87- annie was my favourite film when i was a child. But when I put it on for you, you laughed at me. and when annie sang that                            oh-so popular                            oh-so hopeful line. (the sun will

 (Tell me what you think of this story.) What if, one day, a girl was born. Small and helpless like every other child. Her parents cried their happy tears, They promised her she would be the:       Happiest child in the world. And this girl grew up smiling, Saying her sorry’s and thank you’s. And stumbling over mistakes, with just cuts and bruises.      (In time, they healed.) She was almost like a shooting star: Giving light wherever she went. Sparks of hope,     showering the world around her. One day, she discovered that shooting st

 Memories live in a bittersweet graveyard, they say. One procession, with joyfully mournful hymns, with prayers and with tears. And then it’s time to kiss the grave goodbye. It’s time to release the pure-black balloon and let the wind carry it far from your reach. (that's just the way it’s supposed to be.) When you put the past behind, you can begin to hand-build a paradise. (on the edge of a road.) holding life close, breathing on cherished time. And that’s what we did, me and you. Flowery dresses, mingled perfumes and giggles. (mockingbirds in the wind.) But I lied when I told you I had shut the gates of t

Careful spells cast by broken hearts. A cauldron of tears and regrets. Throwing in the last ingredient, bony fingers gripping metal smiles. Laugh a screechy laugh, humourless eyes. Who would have thought that sand and blood would compliment each other so well? Like dreams under muffled yawns. As true as your captured smile. Childhood regrets and teenage hatred, reflected in an adult’s eyes. Mix the potion together under bright rays of yellow. You say the sun reminds you of nostalgia, but why? The past is gone, the present lasts only for a fleeting moment... then it is lost. Stir the elixir around a bit more, You know much mo

She was everything I yearned for. All that I needed to want. So I got out my pen and drew her face. Sitting for hours, trying to capture her beauty. But all I had under my command was simple lines. They could never have been enough. Her eyes, her lips. I detailed the picture to perfection, I perfected the picture to failure. By the time I’d finished drawing it, I had no colours left. All I had was a picture that looked wrong. A picture that looked so damn wrong. It made me cry. My tears stained the page, and suddenly it looked better. So the next time I bled, I held my hand over the page. Drops of blood, raining; a river o

every time, it's every time you hold my hand that i feel it. it's every time i see your brown eyes, every time your crooked teeth show when you smile telling a story, or a joke, or a pick up line. it's the way the skin on your wrists feel against my cheek when i steal them away, or every time i hear you say, "you're weird, but i like it." it's every time we find something new about each other that's the same, how we both know a song or a movie or how we both would jump in front of a bullet for paul mccartney. it's finding out that you really did want to take me to that movie. it's the awkward, it's the heartbeats, it's the, "i'll come to your

"Do you know why she's dying?" "Do you?" "Because I broke her heart. God, I feel so fucking bad about that." "No she's stronger than most I know. She's dying because you told her to." "What? No, that doesn't even make sense." "Think about it. She would do anything, for you." - You were nineteen and fell for the girl with the ballet toes and unreliable heart. You were a robot, programed to say her name every time you were asked a question. And when you urged your feelings to a breaking point, you found her standing outside your door with an i-love-you note and a field of asymmetrical freckles. That was all you needed to get down on one

Marley was my coworker for two years. We both worked in the same building, only a few cubicles away. She was short with long brown hair, and looked good in dark red lipstick. She had rather tanned skin, but lighter than my own dark skin. She favored skirts to pants but preferred scarves to accompany her neck rather than pantyhose for her legs. After those years together, I began to take an interest in her. I asked her on a date. “A date?” she replied. “Yeah. Just some dinner or something.” I smiled nervously. “I don't know...if I'm ready, really.” “Ready?” “I've been in a lot of relatio

 “I like you,” he said, after a moment of hesitation. She paused. “You like me?” Her tone surprised him; it was airy, disinterested. The boy continued. “I've liked you since grade eight. Please go out with me.” “Go out with you?” “Yes.” His knees shook a little, though he tried his best to prevent it. “What will we do when we go 'out'?”  she said casually.   “...Pardon?” “Will we holds hands, cuddle, and tell each other stories? Will we go to movies and pretend we like each other's tastes, and go to restaurants only to fondle over the bill?” “...