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Will you sleep with me..?Will you sleep with me..?
Not sexually, of course.
I just want to be near you.

I want us to be close.
I want your arms wrapped around me.
I want to feel your warm chest against my ear
as I listen to your heartbeat in rhythm.
Each bounce,
patter,
and pulse
could be mine.
Just like how my heartbeat could be yours.

Will you sleep with me..?

The ShadowHe is the creature who comes in the night
to clean the kitchen and return
that sock you lost in the laundry last week. He is
the hooded figure who stalks by you
in a darkly lit alleyway with his hood up
when you're dead drunk at 3 in the morning and
you just know he's
going to mug you or worse
but he doesn't, just
turns a corner and disappears. (He is
going that way to gently chastise
the man who had an entirely different idea. The man
runs home, cries, remembers nothing
the next morning. He goes
to his parole officer and confesses
several violations.)

He is the one who whispers
into your ear in the middle of the night
terri

The GuardianAs told by Daniel Valentine

Panic.

The archeologist ran as fast as his long overworked legs could go. The terrible shadow was catching up quickly, running him down like so many fox hunting hounds in spring. There was only so much the young man could deal with, and as the sweat poured down his face with the exertion, he found, this was not one of them. He’d already reached the outer halls of the sanctum, how much longer would the creature follow him!?

He could see a door ahead, but as the beast behind him roared, the ground shook, nearly throwing him off balance and caused large chunks of the ceiling to collapse in his path. Soon he w

SlowSo little left to hold on to
I'm falling deep
Deeper deepening.

But it's calming
And my heart beats slow
Slowly slower.

I feel my eyes slide shut
And my vision goes black
Blacker blackest.

My senses fade
And I become empty
Emptier emptiness.

The Ward: Chapter 1 - AloneChapter 1 - Alone
When most people start a story, such as this one, they’ll start with something like ‘my name is and I’m such and such years old’. Seriously, nearly every time I ever opened a first person book, it was there, as though everyone could think of no better way to start their stories.

But am I going to be different? Maybe. But this tale seems a little too grim for a gentle start such as that. So, I guess I’ll just let you work out who am I. Here, I’ll start from the beginning, the very beginning.

8888

It was 1992, and typically for a British day, it was dark, and rainy, if not a little cold.

Light in the Darkness

The books were piled high on the desk, tucked deep in the recesses of the Archive's library. There were no candles allowed this close to such precious works, so the words had to be revealed with a special light. It was a small glass ball, emanating a honeyed glow like that of a candle. Muted, small, and unobtrusive. This light didn't flicker.

One of the students, an Apprentice, dropped another arm-load of books on his desk. The impact sent up a plume of dust that had settled on the shelf nearby. He destroyed the sanctum silence with a fit of coughing. A murmured curse and he claimed a seat, pulling open a weathered book. Strangely, the cove

i write bad poetry.You are made of bone, sinew, gristle, synapse, skin, keratin
not inkwells and Hemingway, galaxy-cuttings and star-trimmings
or dream, Edgar Allen Poe, absinthe, reflections and sin.
You know a hundred words to describe every pockmark that dots
your face and the way your pens fit into arrow-quivers by that
ricketty old desk of yours but

Words will not
fall
from your mother-of-pearl lips
(willingly.)

Apply cleverly-done descending letters here
and sprinkle one jaunty hyphen across the page
because after all, punctuation is a hitchhiker
and you're speeding down the word count like a cargo truck
till you crash into an abrupt ending or more lik

Writer's OathAs a writer, I swear on my word and my honor to do my best,
To always strive for the unobtainable;
To not only reach for, but to walk among the stars;
To never lose the awe and wonderment of life,
And to see the world, if only for a moment, with the simple faith and wonder of a child;
To kindle the flame of imagination within the hearts of all whom I come into contact with;
To never scoff at the whimsical;
To keep a hearty belief in dragons and fairies burning strong in my heart;
To believe that giants can be slain, and evils vanquished;
To not merely search for a hero in dark times, but to seek to be one;
To look ever to my friends for inspiration, and also to seek to be that inspiring light;
To remember that the darkest hour of night is when the promise of coming dawn is the brightest;
To be ever open to new possibilities,
And yet to always say what must be said in the way it ought to be said;
To remember that the pen is mighty, but only because of the words that it writes;
To stand

Never Going Back.Little boy, little boy.
Won't you come here.
Little boy, little boy.
Won't you stay here.

He cries in the dark.
Stands strong in the world.
Fears that old monster.
Slowly learns to push back.

Young man, young man.
Won't you come back.
Young man, young man.
Won't you ever return.

He catches the strap.
Shatters the firewater.
Freeing himself.
Sheds not a tear.

Old man, old man.
Won't you help them.
Old man, old man.
Will you ever go back?

A Note on DrowningI am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]

[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]

In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.

I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted m

The King Crow He was the King Crow. The Lord of Scavengers, the Master of Ravens, the Patrician of the Eaters of the Dead.
No mightier of his kind had ever graced the skies.
Countless battles, disputes, and bloodshed of all kind did he witness in his glorious time, perched on a tree branches or a windowsill, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to take for himself the bounty of death.
Countless messages did he deliver in his spare time to lords and kings, for the part of bearer of dark news rests upon the dark wings of the crows.
Countless corpses did he beak, countless eyes did he devour, a few from the living, most from the dead, whether they be from peasants or kings, for it was the task of the crows to clean up after Mankind’s mess.
There he would be, everywhere you looked, if you looked hard enough, big and black as the midnight sky, gazing at the world through two blood-red eyes, looking, searching,

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Will you sleep with me..?Will you sleep with me..?
Not sexually, of course.
I just want to be near you.

I want us to be close.
I want your arms wrapped around me.
I want to feel your warm chest against my ear
as I listen to your heartbeat in rhythm.
Each bounce,
patter,
and pulse
could be mine.
Just like how my heartbeat could be yours.

Will you sleep with me..?

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You Say That I Am Mad

by ~TheInkofmyWritingPen, Feb 7, 2013, 8:27:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Your eyes totter through your dreams.
Dreams that are...
...unexplainable.
Dreams that are...
...unimaginable.
And you say that I am mad.

You fall,
Though you feel motionless.
Falling...
Falling...
But, my dear,
The time is ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And you say that I am mad.

My mind starts to ponder with this thought,
And I realize,
Who isn't mad?

I laugh.
HA!!
HA HA HA!!
How could such a thing
Escape from my mind?

My eyes flickered violently.
I grinned wickedly.

Am I mad?
I ask.

I cackled with delirium.
HA HA HA HA!!
We are all mad!!

The clock is ticking, my dear.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It is almost time.....

....for Tea

254

21 18 12

You Say That I Am Madby ~TheInkofmyWritingPen

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Oh wow, my first post that has to do with writing!

I'm not sure if I like it as much as I thought I would though.
This is basically a poem about Tarrant Hightop; also known for being the Mad Hatter.
I dunno, I guess it didn't come out too bad, right?

Ha, oh well. Enjoy.

Mad Hatter (c) Lewis Carroll

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Submitted on: February 7
File Size: 1.1 KB

Views: 254 (1 today)
Favourites: 21 (who?)
Comments: 18
Downloads: 12

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Mood: Obsessed

~PandaCat22 Mar 6, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

It's.. AMAZING!!!!!!!! I LOVE IT!!!!

Reply

~TheInkofmyWritingPen Mar 8, 2013

Thanks!

Reply

~PandaCat22 Mar 10, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

np

Reply

~Lilywolf123 Feb 28, 2013

dude! i love this!!!

Reply

~TheInkofmyWritingPen Mar 2, 2013

Thanks

Reply

~BlackTongue9 Feb 8, 2013

AWESOME!!!!!!

Reply

~TheInkofmyWritingPen Feb 10, 2013

Thanks!

Reply

!WiNGz69 Feb 8, 2013 Student Writer

I'm in love with this poem, Its brilliant. Who is Tarrant Hightop though? Is that just an alias for the Hatter?

Reply

~TheInkofmyWritingPen Feb 8, 2013

Tarrant Hightop is the Hatter's real name.

And thank you.

Reply

~Hazyl Feb 7, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Love the poem and the form it is written in.

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