Write outside your comfort zone

[stormcaller]

Ok so currently talking to a friend of mine, he's into dark poetry and has been taking the oppurtunity to share it with me (largely against my will).

In my bored-ness I suggested that he gave me a topic to try writing some poetry about, being the kind of depressing chap he is he said hatred,death and sorrow.

Spoiler: So here it is, a free verse poem on Hatred,death and sorrow by yours truly.Note none of this reflects my outlook on life

Darkness...all I know,
All I see,
All I feel.
It's cold embrace offers no warmth or protection,
yet I hide in it, shelter myself within it.
I hide from myself.

The dead man is the only one I call friend,
the dead man tells no tales,
but shares with me much.
The knowledge that everyone will be,
someday,
like him.
Cold lifeless,
that is all there is to look forward to in this miserable phase we call life,
Death

Hatred is a close companion too,
bringing the great and meek alike to madness,
becoming something more then themselves,
the chaos that comes from it is,
...beautiful.

Then I went for round two, him attempting to spite me even further made me write about love which I totally can't do for the life of me.

Spoiler: Yet here it is in all it's fail-ful goodness

Ok eugh, I hate this sappy crap

Life without is meaningless,
Everything without love is meaningless.
Love is the essence of all things,
in this world and the next,
to be in love is spiritual beyond limit,
to know and experience what has brought us all together.
Saying "I love you" is much more then simply saying those words,
it is telling the other that you'd give the world for them,
you'd take a bullet for them,
you'd die for them,
and die without them.
Those whose Cupids arrows strike,
are truly blessed,
above all others.

So I ask you the members of the escapist, try writing something you never would normally and see how it goes, you could use the topics I did or just something that's a paradigm shift from you're normal work. It doesn't have to be poetry, any form of text-based expression will do.

So have a dark,depressing,loving ball!

 

[antipunt]

Really, it's because you're high.
"Wait, really? Are you sure?"
Honestly, it'd be silly to doubt me
"Whoa, man. Why is the room kind of spinning!"
We've been over this. It's because you're high.
"But...man, why is everything kind of moving in frames!"
Well...it's because you're high.
"Damn...oh whoa, why is my short-term memory so funky?"
What did I just say?
"Oh right. Sorry. It's...because I'm high?"
Precisely.
"Why am I so scared of the 5th grade. It seems scary."
Really, it's because you just worry too much.
"High School is rather strange. Anyone else devastated?"
Really, you're just over-reacting.
"Am I different from other people...? Just saying."
*Pfft* Really, you're nothing special.
"Doesn't anyone else want to change things around here? I'm unsatisfied with the status quo!"
Really, you're just being idealistic.
"Why... is it that I'm terrified of life?"
Really, you're just being emo.
"Everything will change. I mean...it has to change."
Really, that's just your opinion.
"Why do people like this book? It doesn't make any sense to me."
Really, you're looking at it all wrong.
"Why...am I so depressed?"
Really, you're just being emo.
"Life. Doesn't it all play out like some sick joke?"
Really, you're just being emo.
"The end of college will be the end of me."
Now you're just being over-dramatic.
"Isn't there a single person in the world that understands me?"
Really, you should stop whining about trivialities.
"True love doesn't exist."
Really, now you're just being a pussy.
"People are so superficial"
Really, you're just being a scene-kid.
"Why...am I so angry?"
Really, now you're just being immature.
"The theme memento mori means so much to me..."
Really, no one cares what you think.
"Everything...is just so terribly stupid."
Really, you're just being cynical.
"Why...am I so pathetic?"
Really, now you're just feeling sorry for yourself.
"Why...am I forty years old?"
Really, life's not going to slow down just for you.
"Why...are all my questions still unanswered?"
Really, who cares what you think.
"Everything's going to remain stagnant isn't it?"
Really, you should've realized this a long time ago.
"Why am I alone?"
Really, it's because you're difficult to relate to.
"Where are my friends?"
Really, life doesn't revolve around you.
"Why am I still alive? Why does it matter?"
Really, you're just being emo.
"I hate everyone. Stupid kids."
Really, no one likes you either.
"Why am I spending so much time indoors?"
Really, it's not rocket-science.
"Why am I dying?"
Really, it happens to everyone.
"Where are my parents?"
Really, they died years ago. It's nothing new.
"...and my ideals?"
Really, they're called 'ideals' for a reason.
"Everything's turning dark...I would care, but who gives a shit, right?"
Really, I agree with this statement.
~
"But man, be honest with me? Why is everything moving in frames?"
Really, it's because you're high.

 

[Internet Kraken]

Black ink runs down my face
Tears stain the corpse that lies before me
Tragedy that has fallen upon my life
Why me? Why shoudl god take his rage out on me?

You know what screw this. I'm starting to feel emo already.

 

[Lord George]

Ok I'll have a try at writing dark poetry though I find it pathetic and horrendous and all my poetry centres around life and technology

Oh little one you pine away
Trapped in your glassy tomb
you have seen the last of the suns ray
forever suck in my cold room
Your eyes grow dull, your spirit goes
no more for you of life's gray woes
your air denied, your wings fall short
my face shall be your final thought
I grant your memory a final nod
to you I am both man and God.

I was inspired by a fly that was dying trapped between two window panes, I feel a bit depressed now, I'm going to listen to Queen now.

 

[Undead Dragon King]

Void.
One word
that can speak
Volumes.
a lack
of feeling, or
Interest.
among other
descriptions, void is
Nothing.
that is
what consumes me
Now.

EDIT: Leaving comfort writing zone in T-minus 3...2..1...
={

 

[ygetoff]

Don't do it! Don't jump into the pit that is dark poetry!

 

[Cpt_Oblivious]

If Haiku's are 17 syllables I did this right, if not then ignore me.

Spoiler: Haiku

I sit and the darkness grabs for me, dragging me down with it.
I fall.

 

[New Troll]

I Love Her (depressing love)

She was close to me. So very close. None had ever gotten so close. I had never allowed it. Her body is next to mine, within mine, the hairs on hers tickling, tangling, meshing with mine. Her hand is massaging my chest, playing, twisting, combing the mesh, the patch of hair there. Feels wonderful. Feels so very relaxing. So very peaceful. I can think of no other place I'd rather be. There is no such a place. I am home. I love her.

A tinge of pain, a shock to the system. My vision of Eden crumbling. I glance down, a flash of red drawing my attention. Blood. Her fingernails are digging in. The pain so unreal. I try to scream out, but my voice is gone. If I ever even had it. I watch as her fingers disappear beneath, into my skin. The river flowing down my body is growing thicker, deeper, darker. I fight off the feigntness, not wanting to succumb to this death. I feel her hand squeeze between my rib cage, and gently, hah, gently I say, push my ribs aside, making her passage wider. The pain is all but gone, though I know it's still there. My mind can't comprehend what it's feeling, what my body is going through. And what my mind can't comprehend frightens me even more. I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise. My eyes desiring to roll to the back of my head. Yet I fight this feeling. I want to, I must see my demise.

I feel as if I'm watching a movie, or in the least, watching this all transpire to someone else. I notice her hand grip around something, I know what, but I don't wish to know. With a sharp jerk, her hand slowly starts to emerge from the crevice in my chest. Red, everything is red. All I see is red. Her hand, her fingers, her nails, the still beating organ grasped within. Red.

I stand dumbfounded as my heart is dropped to the ground. I hear a laugh, sinister, evil, a laugh of glee, of torture. She laughs as she turns around and slowly walks away, leaving me alone. So very alone. My body starts to crumble of it's own accord, numbness finally over-taking it. I feel cold, like the world around me is giving up, losing all hope, forgetting me. I want to pray, but nothing comes to mind, so I just lay there, drowning in a pool of my own. Just lying there, staring at the heart. My heart. At least once.

I feel a presence. Another person. She is upon me in an instance, holding me, brushing the long tangled, matted hairs from my face. She reaches down with a kiss, I feel alive. She sits there cradling me, as we listen to my heart continue to beat on. She points at it and smiles. I smile back. So much pain. So much comfort. Happiness. I feel as if my heart continues to beat, if only for her. I love her.

Her smile, her precious smile of hope, of peace, gone. As sudden as she had come, her smile vanishes, leaving just a frown. No use. No point. No love. She lays me back into my puddle of madness, making sure I'm facing the heart. The still beating heart. My heart, laying in it's own ever-expanding sea of blood. If it was still inside me, I know it would surely stop of it's own accord after all this. But it's not, so all I can do is lay there. Lay there and watch. Lay there and dream of peace. Or of death.

And as if saying to me, telling me not to give up, never give up hope, the heavens above me part and a light shines down upon me. I feel warmth from the ray, tranquility. Love. I watch as a shadow emerges from the clouds and plummets down upon me, gracefully, lovingly. I feel her arms wrap around me, her voice telling me truths, both comforting me, delivering me. She quickly, lovingly, without hesitation reaches for the bloody organ in front of me. She clasps it within her loving hands, holding it as if it was some great treasure. Her treasure. Pulling it near to me chest, she drops it back into the emptiness of my soul. Back to where it belongs. And with a kiss, my chest starts to close, starts to heal over, starts to find peace at last. She loves me. And I love her. My angel sent from above. I am hers just as my heart now belongs to her. Her servant, as she is my goddess. I am hers.

I love her.

 

[Mozared]

She turns and kisses me
Unintended brown now fills me up
Were I once desperate
I have now found what I never lost
But nevertheless missed
I was wrong
It does not take what I thought it does
To be complete
And face x

I occasionaly write some poetry, but none of it ever looks like this. Interesting topic, you basically forced me to take an expression of old feelings and claim the opposite.

 

[similar.squirrel]

I'm a whining prick, yet I don't seem to have patience for poems like this..Maybe I'm too cynical on top of everything.hm

 

[solidstatemind]

Interesting concept. The posts by antipunt and Darkside360 are pretty damn good. I don't think I'll toss my hat in this particular ring, however, because the thing most 'outside my comfort zone' really is silence.

 

[stormcaller]

This stuff is great, I loved the gamer's poem and the mentioning of the Taco.

 

[Derpus von Herpus]

If Haiku's are 17 syllables I did this right, if not then ignore me.

Spoiler: Haiku

I sit and the darkness grabs for me, dragging me down with it.
I fall.

Haikus go five syllables, then seven, then five. Like so:

bar fighters leap out
moths tangle with orange hot flame
my nose thrice broken

 

[pffh]

If Haiku's are 17 syllables I did this right, if not then ignore me.

Spoiler: Haiku

I sit and the darkness grabs for me, dragging me down with it.
I fall.

your haiku is wrong,
I'm sorry, five seven five
is the correct way.

seventeen is right
but the form must be perfect
alas it is not.

 

[ygetoff]

If Haiku's are 17 syllables I did this right, if not then ignore me.

Spoiler: Haiku

I sit and the darkness grabs for me, dragging me down with it.
I fall.

I was about to correct this, but this guy:

If Haiku's are 17 syllables I did this right, if not then ignore me.

Spoiler: Haiku

I sit and the darkness grabs for me, dragging me down with it.
I fall.

your haiku is wrong,
I'm sorry, five seven five
is the correct way.

seventeen is right
but the form must be perfect
alas it is not.

did it much better.

 

[Zhalath]

omigod reality is like really dark and stuff and life is bad and it like hurts and stuff and like you can like love things and stuff but someday they won't be there and you'll be like lonely and stuff

I can safely say I would never write or speak this way.

 

[stormcaller]

omigod reality is like really dark and stuff and life is bad and it like hurts and stuff and like you can like love things and stuff but someday they won't be there and you'll be like lonely and stuff

I can safely say I would never write or speak this way.

Paris Hilton in The Goth(ple) Life?

 

[Nargleblarg]

So wait this is this a poetry section....I'll pass.

 

[SmartIdiot]

Write outside your comfort zone
For me there is no such zone
I will never know comfort
Never know happiness
I live in darkness
Always rejected
Unloved forever
And the worst part is...

Haha fucking hell... I'm gonna post that anyway. I swear if anyone takes that seriously I will lose faith in humour and start wearing eyeliner.

 

[Rascarin]

I challenged myself the other day to write something which I've never tried before (and I'm usually quite uncomfortable with). I've already posted it in "The Short Story Thread", but what the hell...

Spoiler: Two Can Play At That Game

Personal space was something she obviously had no concept of.

Or, perhaps more likely, she saw my desire for personal space and delighted in invading it. I wondered if standing too close, hugging me and even trying to kiss my cheek were all part of some twisted game of hers, the aim of which was clearly to try and make me squirm in her presence. I knew for a certainty that it was nothing more than that; her interests lay in a completely different direction. The sole purpose was making me feel uncomfortable.

Needless to say, it was a game I didn't particularly enjoy.

I stood in the corridor one evening, listening to a conversation between two friends, arms folded across my chest, when she rounded the corner. She called my name loudly when she saw me, unable to mask the mirth from in her voice as she stretched out her arms to try and trap me once more in one of her dreaded hugs. I sneered and backed away, only to find my escape route blocked by the two talking friends. She caught me, wrapping her arms around and squeezing far too tight for comfort. I squirmed.

She leaned back to look at me, and I scowled as fiercely as I could manage. She laughed and asked in her silly, cheery, girly voice, "Did that make you feel violated?"

"A little," I growled in return. She laughed again as she let go, eyes sparkling with mischief, and I sensed she had claimed another victory. I was outraged. I considered her for a few moments, eyes narrowed, before suddenly reaching a decision. Perhaps the way to win her stupid game wasn't to not play along, but to beat her at it. I seized her by her upper arms and shoved her back against the opposite wall, the length of my body crashing against hers. I seized her mouth before she could voice her surprise, my tongue forcing through her lips. I plundered her mouth in a few angry sweeps, trying not to taste her.

She raised her arms to try and push me away, but I merely released her biceps and grabbed her wrists instead, immobilising her against the wall. I was stronger than her, and she knew it. I maintained my vice-like grip even after she stopped struggling, determined to show her that I was in control now... that I was winning.

"I'll give you violated," I thought to myself. I nudged her legs apart with one of my own, pressed a thigh into the gap and pushed, my whole body up moving against hers. I ignored the shudder than ran through her and the sensation of her heartbeat pounding through her chest into mine, withdrawing from her mouth and biting her lower lip, hard. She made a noise then, finally, a shocked little whimper as sharp teeth pinched soft skin. I wasn't gentle, stopping just short of actually drawing blood. I shifted my thigh again, causing another shudder.

I forced my way back into her mouth again, eliciting a second bout of struggling from her arms, but I held her firm. It wasnt a kiss, far from it. A kiss was affectionate and sensual, and those were the last things I wanted to be. This was punishment. I was punishing her; I was raping her mouth with my tongue. Abruptly, I withdrew and stared into her face, and I was pleased to see genuine fear in her eyes. I smirked as another idea came to my mind, and when I pushed against her again it wasnt her mouth I sought, but her neck. I bit and sucked the pale flesh, determined to leave a mark, my mark, on her. She whimpered again, squirming.

Satisfied, I pulled away, releasing both neck and wrists and leaving her to sag against the wall. One hand shakily rose to touch the red mark on her neck as she tried to get her breath back. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, trying to purge the taste of her from me. Our audience in the corridor stood with eyes wide and jaws agape, stunned. I let the silence build for a few minutes as they all watched me.

"Two can play that game," I told her finally, as I took my car keys from my pocket and turned to leave. As I walked away, I muttered to myself. "Checkmate."