continuing their revolution, orbitingWhen I feel them, yourcontinuing their revolution, orbiting by silkshines
fingertips, they're explosions on my skin,
more potent than words.
The ridges of your fingerprints are like
foreign topography. Let me
learn this map with the skin
of my chest, my shoulders, my
And when you leave, tired
of me, or more probably just tired,
we'll go back to the space
that feels too much like home.
The space--distance between us
where we rotate like dead
planets around a black hole.
When you come back, we can blame
it on the chaotic gravity, a subtle
breakdown of physics.
No words, only catastrophic collisions.
messages: heard in a dreamWhen I dream (and I alwaysmessages: heard in a dream by silkshines
dream of you;
though that is for another time) I see
the shape of the edge of
your hand, curled against your chest
like a half dried leaf.
My lips mouth fears against
the crook of your neck, muttering in mad
repetitions until you shiver
in your sleep.
[I’ll never be good enough,
you’ll wake up in the morning and never come back]
But even sleeping soundly within
my head, (your voice is like far-off church bells,
ringing my quiet salvation), you tell
me your fears, too.
[it is nothing,
there is nothing worthy of fear]
Violent MorningsIt’s never violent whenViolent Mornings by silkshines
you hit me. Your fists press bruises into my chest
and I clasp my hands around your neck
like I’m praying--
but I’m praying to you.
And I don’t have to ask you,
when the sun slides heavy through the window
shades, lighting dust like glitter in the air,
you roll against me.
I hold you in my fingers like an ocean pearl
and I may just drown to grab you.
When I wake up and lick
my blood from your knuckles
and you whisper an apology against my chest,
that is something violent.
It’s better that you stay with me broken than leave me whole.
She's got a lot of nerve and you don'tThe first time is a lot like the last time, and when you see her walk in, all pomp and swagger and a smile that could kill stronger women than you, you tell yourself you’ll be fine as long as you walk away now.She's got a lot of nerve and you don't by silkshines
She doesn’t speak to you, not at first, but you dream of her like you’ve never dreamed of home, dream up the way that her mouth could feel on your throat, and the noises she could sing for you.
The second time you see her she ends up spread open in front of you. You’re never sure how it happens but her body looks like it wants you and the way you fit together feels catastrophic. She smiles at you, at you like she’s never done, and something clicks, like a lock on a door– a bullet in a chamber.
You tell yourself the first time will be the last time, and when you voice the idea she laughs like it’s a joke. She feels like a trap, the bones of her ribs could cage you like they shield her own beating heart, and you ste
Attention, Writers - This is important.It's important, because the Scripts and Screenplays gallery is 99.9% full of crap.Attention, Writers - This is important. by salshep
This is a terrible state of affairs, and one which we, TheCabalists, aim to amend by offering you all a chance to win $US20 worth of points. How?
We are holding a competition.
This competition entails writing a three-act play.
One which, hopefully, will brighten the ghastly gloom of Scripts and Screenplays a little, as well as bringing you vast acclaim and much applause for making that gallery suck a little less. Oh, and $20 worth of points.
Never written a play? Never fear. It's not that hard. This series of articles should get you started.
Of course, there are rules to this competition, the non-observance of which will lead to the disqualification of your play, so read carefully:
The Hows & Whens
The play will consist of three acts. More, if you like, but NO LESS.
Entries MUST have been written specificall
This content is intended for mature audiences.Sign In To Confirm Your Age
or, enter your birth date.