Mommy I don't want to do poetry today:

Attempt at story writting.(and yes this one has a picture, I know how you guys love a visual aid.)

Wake up, the birds screamed.
You get dressed and eat your breakfast, today is a big day.
You might be on vacation but even now you have a busy schedule.
First up is a one hour boat ride to open sea, there you plan on reef diving.
Only for a few hours though, because the restaurant you booked lunch at is just as punctuated as yourself.

Alicia Fortuna, or Alice ass your friends call you.
planning is all you ever do.
But nobody can foresee the future...


She glances back at the waterside hotel, pondering if she would have enough time before the boat leaves, to run back and grab her sunglasses.
She decides to take her chances.
A fatal mistake!

When she returns to the docks, she gets on a boat that looks extremely similar to the tourist attraction that was docked there mere minutes ago.
Not that this was the same boat, oh no.
No, without noticing Alice had just boarded a pirate ship. Owned by hardened criminals out for loot.
Poor, poor Alice, if only her sunglasses had the same prescription as her regular glasses.
But fashion came first and applying your lenses was something she thought she could do while on the boat.
as her normal vision now gradually returned after putting them in, Alice came to realize how severe her situation had become.
came to realize how her schedule had changed for ever and how she would never be able to return to her carefully planned life again.

I might like your music but you don't like mine and that's fine

stranger sounds have met my ear.
yet how do I describe this.
my music is like that of a different species.
they meet nor your standards or your expectations.

yet how do I describe this.
so much music that differs from what's is normal.
they meet nor your standards or your expectations.
and it tears you from your comfortable life.

so much music that differs from what's is normal.
my music is like that of a different species.
and it tears you from your comfortable life.
though stranger sounds have met my ears.

Of fur and fullness:

While they are howling to the moon.

This mighty beast, the Loup Garrou.
Whose fangs might end my life too soon.
His racing claws begging me, "what to do?"
To save my life or let it trough.

And will I change or bite the dust.
Become the beast of hunger and lust.
Or find my grave as I must.

Six feed under changing only to dust.

image is not mine, owners signature is at the bottom

look it has a picture

I felt concealed, shrouded in mist.
Whispers of unspoken thoughts too horrible to exist.
A waving man commands me closer,
deeper into the mist.

But the whispers yell unspeakable thoughts, too horrible to describe.
About how men who venture into the mist, never come out alive.
About how the waving man can't be trusted, of how meeting him was something
that you won't survive.

A light appears in the distance, as it was lit by the waving man.
You could see him much clearer now,
he was dressed in a white suit, standing next to a white van.
he was my way out here, out of the mist and the cold, driving of in this man's Sedan.