Welcome to Spazz's Writing of Woes. Ha, I make it sound like some sort of club...hm...

Anyway, here I will post writing, old and new, that you may also find on dA. *Gestures to signature link*. There are a few I'll leave out, however. You probably saw these in the talents thread, too.

Passion Fruit

In the humdrum of the juice isle at the grocery store, you find a strange carton of juice. You pick it up to see what kind of juice it is, and you see it’s called passion fruit. Wait, it’s called passion fruit?! Suddenly, everything in your mind is a tumult of questions. Your mind is diverted from your shopping list to all the possibilities of what this passion fruit could be – is it really a fruit? What kind of name is passion fruit?

Indeed, when the names of fruits were allotted to their respectful owners, at their sporadic times, the fruits earned bizarre names that seemed to come from nowhere at all. Personally, I never really acknowledged names of fruits until I saw passion fruit juice. Whoever congregated to name this fruit must have been a group of total ignoramuses. After all, naming a fruit is not an intricate task. Because of what I’ve said, passion fruit is an unseemly name for a fruit. Fruit names are not supposed to make people think of anything other than the fruit itself. Deriving from what I’ve said, the name “passion fruit” makes me think of passion, which tells me that the fruit might be some sort of aphrodisiac. An aphrodisiac! What a stupid notion, and yet it’s probably the most common one.

In conclusion, passion fruit is a terrible name for a fruit because it simply does not sound like a fruit, but an aphrodisiac. Think about what I’ve said next time you walk through the juice isle at the grocery store and want to buy some passion fruit juice.

Hidden Love Exposed

To be with you would take a millennium,
As all of them had told.
But as we vied to disprove them,
It was ineffectual; we were sold.

For we are not sublime,
Indeed, only mortal,
And out stagnating love soon will die,
If we do not find a portal.

And only then did we realize,
The mire we are in.
For faerie loving vampire,
Of course, is a sin.

In this pestilence of hate,
Of persecution, of jeers,
Our once irrepressible love, as of late,
Has been deciphered, and brought us tears.

So now our love, once luminous,
Will fade, thought we did try,
To keep our love together,
But it will fade as we die.

We sit in our separate prisons,
Both longing for the other,
But that time has now long gone.
The time we had each other.

Used

Your voice by the day becomes more strident,
Bringing no antidote to my mind’s bedlam.
Your horrid cruelty, never subsident,
Brings hating you more to a drastic sum.

I rue the day I loved you,
For now your words are pungent.
It’s all strike, hiss, and rape from you,
Because I still am too indulgent.

How you cajoled me into your arms,
I still utterly fail to know.
There is no longer love in your arms,
As I become more haggard with every blow.

Can’t alleviate pain from neither cut nor bruise,
For your surveillance is truly immaculate.
Suffering incessant pain from you cruel ruse,
I continue further and further to etiolate.

Every sore, on my body and my mind,
Will continue to kill me.
I know as I begin to die,
You will never really love me.

Cold Night Payment (Read and analyze CAREFULLY)

Turning away from the setting sun,
I savor the sweet, cool breeze.
The warmth is behind me,
The aura of day becomes undone.

The despondent sigh from nowhere,
Bringing me closer, luring me still.
The urge to forever succumb,
Is one I must forbear.

Yet, that night is so alluring, and
So terrifically undemanding.
Over there, to reach satisfaction
Requires no journey through quicksand.

And it’s so easy, and oh so simple!
I dash away from the dwindled sun,
Away from it’s pervasive deceit
That starts and spreads from its dirty dimples.

And the entire burden lifts,
But not for long, I must say,
For soon, I am falling into wintry night.
Where my blunder is rebuked in a drift.

Into winter, I crash and fall,
Engulfed in the cold,
And the darkness of the night,
Where I know I will pay for it all…

A Messy Awakening (References to mature content)

My eyes suddenly snap wide open,
As I am pulled from my night fantasy.
And as my senses begin to reopen,
I realize that both worlds were ecstasy.
I know that I am shuddering, still.
The remains of saliva on my pillow,
And in my face, and my back with a chill,
As I remember doing Jess and Willow.
I soon come out of it with a shock,
Realizing that I am thoroughly drenched,
In my mess of aftermath, and the thought
Of the dream body parts I had clenched.
I still lay guilt-ridden in my mess,
And think how I dreamt of Willow and Jess.

Spazz pwns the recockulous name of Passion Fruit! Awesomeness. >=3

Your poetry is top notch, and usually, I'm not exactly a big fan of poetry.

DL approves!

*thumbs up*

Hooray! *wags tail*

There's more coming soon.

Here's something new. Kinda weird, but I put in some funny stuff to add some comic relief...if someone besides myself finds those parts amusing at all.

Sickly Nighttime Haunts

Sick. I feel so sick.

I lay in bed, trying vainly to stay calm. Wanting terribly to sleep. My prior desire. The entire room is pure blackness from my attempt to ascertain to myself that, indeed, it is time to sleep.

My heart pounds loudly, in good rhythm with my head, as my stomach turns incessantly. Cold sweat coats my face, neck, and body. Teary, watery discharge clads the corners of my eyes from the sheer exhaustion. Heat, as well as lack of it, courses my body up and down, all over. Blanket or no blanket? The burden of establishing a comfortable temperature advances my headache and further stymies sleep.

I turn over once more, only meaning to change position once, but soon I'm in a perpetual fidgeting and tossing frenzy, ever-uncomfortable. Of course, of all nights, I have a backache to abet such.

If, on any night, I ever did fall asleep, it is usually a dreamless, long, and thoughtless. That's why I strive to sleep – it's the best escape there is. I, personally, find it as a wonderful way to stay away from the real world, also known as, the awake world, that continually gropes for me in its huge, taloned, filthy hands, only to drive me into oblivion.

The waking world hates me, and I know it will tell me that some more in a few minutes unless I can get to sleep.

Of course, I know I won't be able to. That is, if I'm wide awake and tense right now, there is no chance of sneaking by the gate guards that bar my entry and squeezing through the doors of Dreamland to my happy place, no matter how much I want to.

A dark shade of red forms and begins to swirl near the ceiling. It twists and turns, squirming occasionally, but it is altogether casual, as if it had always been there. I feel my contrived impartial expression become a focused, unforgiving glare.

You know, I have told people about my insomnia. Truly, I have tried to bring them to understand my irritability, my short term memory, my lack of concentration, but they say that all of it is an act. Fake. An attention-grabber.

They tell me to cope. Suck it up. Deal.

I have tried, I have honestly tried. Every “deep breath of relaxation” has only brought me more indignity, every sleeping remedy has only worsened it all. Every attempt to sleep only increases the tension wrenching at my organs with every sleepless night. All those back doors to Dreamland only buckle and lock as I reach out to open them, taunting me like the waking world, and telling me to “go around to the front gate with my ticket and membership card for approval, please.”

The squirming that is the dark shade of red starts to slow down, more hesitant to coolly take advantage of the space of my room. It slowly descends, its gaseous form shaping itself into something tall and foreboding, something like that of a man. Ever so gradually, he begins to form a face, dark hair atop his head, a distinct neck, a thick torso, short arms, and thin legs. His reddish shade becomes a dark tan as he conveys the appearance of a more solid being.

There he stands at the foot of my bed, stark naked.

In the blink of my eye, more of them come, not all being men. In fact, only one other one is a man, and he is taller, with darker hair, more muscular, and harbors a more nurturing look in his eyes. He is also clothed.

A greenish blob takes the shape of a kitten, her white fur silky and soft, her eyes blue and twinkling over a brown tipped nose that matches with brown point paws and a brown ear, and her mouth emitting small meows as pleas of desperation and longing.

I cannot recognize the rest of the blobby gas things. Their features appear skewed, out of place, and unrecognizable. Still, I know the naked man, the clothed man, the kitten, and all the others are staring at me with empty, blank eyes.

It's my fault they're like that. All of us know it.

I am never able to determine if they are ghosts, hallucinations, or truly existent. Regardless, I just know that every time, they want to get back at me. Regardless, I neglected them for far too long.

Every night, when I fail to find shelter in Dreamland because all the back doors were locked and the tickets were sold out, they always come to stare at me. They don't want me to forget. They want to remind me that they're still there, still waiting to be acknowledged, and for some, still wanting more from me.

Every night, when this happens, the watery discharge at the corners of my eyes becomes a trail of genuine tears, catching and constricting my throat in a tight knot.

I want to scream. So badly, so terribly, I want to screech out and shout to anyone who will listen, waking world or not, that isn't one of the gassy, blobby things.

By now, I am sitting up, not daring to make eye contact with any of them. The moment I do, they'll jump right into me and rip me apart from the inside out. They want to, because I made them become that way. Gassy, blobby things.

I clutch my pillow so despairingly, pushing as much tension into it as I shut my eyes tightly, but not tightly enough to create a dam for my obvious tearful river flowing down my face. I feel the creatures, the things, edging closer, their boiling, gas-based bodies creeping around my bed.

Don't look. Don't look.

I hear an blood-curdling scream, that has never emerged before, fill my ears, and at that very moment, the hot air creatures around me start to dissipate. I can hear them crackle as their solid-like forms fail, then make a fizz sound as the gaseousness dissolves into nothing.

I open my eyes. The room is dark again, for now. Once again, I am alone, sitting up in my bed, drenched in sweat and filled with sound of every blood vessel in my body pulsing unusually closely to the surface of my skin. Only now I'm trembling and tear-stained, my throat aches with hoarseness, and the floor vibrates slightly with the steps of my sister bringing her nearer and nearer to my bedroom door.

Still, I hear the naked man's voice, greedily chuckling around me, for no matter who stays with me, no matter now much I scream, no matter how many tickets to Dreamland I have, the gaseous creatures will want to wreak their revenge on me forever.

I can actually healivly relate to this entire thing in general. Insomnia. Problems people refuse to acknowledge or call an act. Shunnedness, Sleepless nights. The ones you get to sleep rife with nightmares.

Yeah... happens to me.

Great job Spazzy. The writing is top notch and I really felt conected to all that, as it seemed so familiar instead of so foreign. Great work.

Next time I drink juice of any kind of fruit...I'll be thinking of you Spazzeh.

You got some great writing skills girl.

This latest one you wrote, I gotta say...wow, just wow. It was very well written and you put such depth in it with the words you used. Well done. I'm lookin forward to reading some more.

(P@$$1onnn fruuiittttt!!!!1!!!)

Thanks, you guys.

Oh shite! *hides*

*hides Spazzy under rock* They shall not get you, my Spazzariffic friend!

*is under a rock* Thanks, but...it's a little cramped here. x_x

(1,000th post! Yesss.)

...

Such an ungrateful child.

PS: Can we have more Spazzy writing maybe please?

Passion fruit! pASSION FRUITAA!! Passhiiooonnnai!!!

Where's Spazaeh, where's Spazzeh?! Spazzy, more Passsion fruittties!!

Here's a new one.

Crimson Martini
Do not even think to resist!
Oh, princess...
Your innocent eyes up at me
Only compel me more to drink from you
My nightly crimson martini.
Yes.

Such soft and sweet porcelain skin
Dons your body.
Your turbulent beating heart in your chest
Will accelerate your fear
And pique my interest.
Yes.

Your aromatic fear is just
Pushing me.
Just piquing my interest more.
Adrenaline, making you sweat,
The sight just makes my fangs so sore.
Yes!

Damn, stop moving, you little twit!
I've got you!
Let me press my fangs to your neck,
Relax, for we share the ecstasy, and
I got my fill, and you in check.
Oh, yes. 

Mwahahaha. Vampire poem. DL approves!

Because if there are three things in the world DL finds to be beyond awesome, it is swords, vampires and ninja's.

Heh, thanks DL. ^_^

Now, here's something that I'm not too sure about. It's my first attempt at a villanelle, so if you don't quite understand why there are repeating lines, click here and go to "villanelle."

Seeing Blindly

The saran wrapped pain shan't go away,
And as I try to disregard the visions,
All the unrest wants to stay.

I'd love to be normal, and keep it all at bay,
But with my life's cold incisions,
The saran wrapped pain shan't go away.

I wanted to open my eyes today,
But all I saw was indecision,
All the unrest wants to stay.

Why must it all be bleak and gray?
Even with my self excision,
The saran wrapped pain shan't go away.

All the stabs I feel every day,
Only become worse with subtle derision.
All the unrest wants to stay.

Why must it be this way?
Even with each provision,
The saran wrapped pain shan't go away.
All the unrest wants to stay.

The Benefit of the Doubt and Ominous Truth

I thought I could trust you,
Since I felt alone and unloved,
But all your did was lie,
So you could get what you wanted.

Convinced me to convince myself
That it was just a harmless game,
But soon we truly felt,
But it was more you than me.

It was just to take advantage of me,
I should have listened to my doubts...
But you implied not to heed them.
So I tried to do them out.

I didn't want to lose you,
I didn't want to lose my freedom,
I kept you close, but I kept you distant,
I even bragged about your care.

You told me that you cared,
That you'd never hurt me,
But you did it every day,
And you knew it, you knew better.

I poured out my heart to you,
I poured out my honey, too,
But I knew it was wrong,
And, oh I know, so did you.

So every day you'd greet me nice,
"Hey kinky, sexy baby,"
And then I'd live up to that title,
Just to have a friend with me.

You tore my heart in two,
So cliche, but true,
And you didn't stop there,
You got my hymen, too.

But still I let it go on,
Until ever present truth exploded
Into my face, splattering in my eyes,
Telling me who my real friends are.

I broke it off with you,
But I know now it's too late.
For you know me enough,
And I'm still in your thoughts,
But, disgustingly, in a too friendly way.

----

Blah.

What's the blah for?

"Seeing Blindly" is brilliant. The rhyme scheme is flawless. Very nice.

The newest is awesome. Love it. I would say more but I have a really bad headache.

You've got talent Deenah. Awesome talent.

Thanks Sel. Heh, the blah was because I felt that way when I wrote it.

Both of your newest stuff reek of awesome Dee. I demand more! >=O

Reek of awesome? That makes it sound like an odour...well, it's awesome, so <3. Thanks.

I don't think I've told people about one story I'm hiding because it has mature content...anyway, if you want it, PM me.

I honestly don't care if this thread is neglected, and I don't give a sh*t about the quality of this poem. For those who DO give a sh*t about my existence, here.

THE TRUTH

Yeah, I know damn well that you're my father,
Too bad you suck ass at playing the role.
You know, I really wish I had a father,
Instead of a stupid money-making mole.

What's a father who leaves far too long?
What's a father who breaks his wife?
What's a father who's done us all wrong?
What's a father who puts us through strife?

Ameen is quiet, I know what he thinks, however,
Daddy's job is just making money for Transformers,
But that just means he'll leave us forever.
And mother, well, she's the one who gives orders.

A fragile mind, poisoned by results of conceit,
Without a father, he is barely raised,
And for his own good, knows so much deceit,
To hide the sh*t from whom he rarely gets praised.

Sure, the doctor fucked up mom's surgery, and,
That's what they say almost killed her,
But the firsthand pain that continued to expand,
Was, of course, the heartbreak you gave her.

It's no wonder why mom always aches and pains,
And occasionally becomes irate while thinking of you.
Because always, that reminder just rains,
Sometimes, it even pours, too.

What good is a visit if it brings more trouble?
That two week span is tight space for a huge fight.
Pumping more sh*t into the unbreakable bubble,
Well, when I checked, you didn't have that right.

Don't let the cheery greetings fool you,
For the thought of you fills me with hate.
No freaking duh, I have to kiss your ass too,
So that you can fund us while taking the bait.

All these flaws and mistakes, you hide with your ego,
Even though you really have nothing to be proud of.
And you climbed to the top overseas with that ego,
Though none know the truth of your broken loves.

Still, though you know you have hurt us all so much,
You wonder why I try to stay cooped up in my room,
Well, mostly, I simply want to avoid your touch,
For I know it usually brings sudden doom.

Maybe, possibly, you could fix this,
If you stopped absorbing in yourself.
Maybe your departure would be bliss,
Unless you started improving yourself.

Though it's a never-ceasing wait for that day.
If it comes, I might willingly come out to say hi.
But if this is how you will forever stay,
Then you can, please, just go DIE.

Spazzaroo...

*comforthugs* ...

...I can be your father for you! Here, watch:

No going out past midnight!

No boys in the house between the hours of 3:00 PM and 8:00 PM! That's family time!

You wearing LIPSTICK?! Here is "relocation," papers!

Eheheheh... ohhhh Al.

Wow. You are a really good writer Spazz. And I care about your existance. *hugs*

Thanks Darktitan. *hugs back*

Woah, Spazz updated?! Yes, yes, she sure did.

Now I think I might use this for something. Not sure. Blah. There's no title on it.

NO TITLE ON IT

It was dark. Dark enough to be closed off from the rest of the world, almost like a room. There was no moonlight, no stars. If it really were a room, there were no windows or doors. Just blackness, and a small candle that lay on the ground. A few feet away, there was a lake-like body of water that shone the reflection of the candle and the light of its fire.

That was what it looked like. The place.

A small boy stood in that place, frightened, sweaty, and alone. He had nothing with him but the shorts and t-shirt that he wore, and his feet were bare.

The boy had been wandering for hours, looking for his parents. He had not the faintest idea of how he had lost them, or where they could be. At that moment, he fell to his knees and began to weep.

He heard a disturbance in the sand. The boy sniffed and then fell quiet, listening. Though he was in dim candle light, the boy almost felt a shadow enveloping him, slowly creeping up his back and nearing his neck. There was ragged breathing, and he saw steam rising from that lake. The boy shut his eyes and felt a lump forming in his throat. Painfully, he swallowed it. He could not bear to be ignorant of what was behind him; clutching the hem of his shorts as if it were a rope that would lift him out of the fear, he slowly opened his eyes and turned around.

Behind the boy stood a round but tall figure, wearing a purple cloak that dragged along the ground. Rough, dry blond hair fell from under the hood. The boy inferred that it was a girl, as the hair rested above her bosom that stuck out from the cloak that was too long and too small for the girl's rotund body. Blue jeans covered the rest of her, and the boy wished that something of hers could cover those eerie red eyes.

“Hello there.” Her voice was thick and smooth, almost matching the rest of her. She grinned, revealing inhumanly white teeth. “You look afraid.”

The child stood, shaking, and squeaked, “I-I'm lost.”

The place started to become a little stuffy. Smoke rose from the lake. It smelled like a mixture of sugar and iron.

The cloaked girl's eyes wrinkled with worry, but the grin did not fade. “Behind you, there is a lake. It is a lake that can take you wherever you like.”

The boy rubbed his left eye and looked away. “But it's...” He could not find the word. “Burning...?”

“Oh, you silly boy. The lake is not burning. The lake makes steam when it is ready to be used. The lake wants you...” Her eyes glinted for a fleeting moment. “... So go to it.”

The boy coughed and was even more afraid than before. This fat lady who came from nowhere wanted him to jump into that steaming lake!

“No! I'm not going in there!”

The boy attempted to abscond, but the woman snatched him by the collar of his shirt.

“Go!!” Her voice was hard, demanding.

The boy made the mistake of turning to face her. To say she glared at him was an understatement; her eyes were blazing with fury, the red in her eyes almost burning into him.

With her other hand, the woman lifted the boy's legs, stomped nearer to the lake, swung him a few times, and sent him hurtling through steam into the hissing lake. He felt himself splash through the surface as the water sizzled. Never mind that the boy had no air inside his lungs – the water was scalding, beating into every pore, worse than fire. Frantically, the boy waved around his limbs in an attempt to swim until his feet touched the bottom of the lake, and then ran onto the shore, crying and coughing.

He had not moved fast enough. He was much too slow, much too late. His skin seared and burned, moreso than it had in that horrid lake. His clothes were gone – the seams had burned and they floated in the lake, boiling away slowly. The boy could have shriveled up right then and there as his now scarlet skin began to peel right off of him. He howled and sobbed, his tears hurt his face and his hair stuck to his head like an insulator for the burns to grow and take him over forever. He felt his thought and sense slipping from him as his mind's focus became that big lady...

Oh, Spazz. I kinda didn't notice you had this. XD

"Seeing Blindly" is my favorite and the one about the author's father is amazingly written too. I think I like it so well because can relate to it. >_>

The latest piece you've written is defiantly unique. I hate reading stuff that I have no idea about and all my questions won't be answered. SO please continue it, it's really descriptive and makes me really wanna know what's going on.

Haven't updated in a while, sorry.

Succubus/Incubus (mature content warning, highlight to view hidden text)

White-hot desire coursing through their bodies,

Forms writhing.

Sinister atmosphere, with the scent of ecstasy.

The smaller is used, the taller is using.

Heat increasing,

Their skin is scorching, their pores are pouring,

Perspiration is profuse.

Tongue to neck, the taller’s tongue is burnt

Against the boiling sweat of the smaller,

The meal is still too hot.

Tension rising, the moans grow louder.

Hips grinding, the groans grow stronger.

Hands roaming, the scents get thicker.

Teeth biting,

Tongue teasing,

Gasps escaping,

Tension rising.

Heads reeling,

Mouthes marking,

Nails raking,

Tension building.

Lips swollen,

Groins aching,

Lungs lacking,

Action increasing,

Tension peaking.

Pores brimming,

Breath catching,

Hearts stopping,

Tension exploding.

Relief; they are satisfied.

And the taller takes a piece of the smaller’s life.

(End)

wow.

that's all I could think of

Gee, thanks. xD

By the way, I'm up for requests BUT... if you do request something, it must be in the form of a prompt, rather than a theme. For example, so-and-so would give me a word, sentence, or statement and tell me to write what comes to mind.

I'm having bad writer's block so pleeease gimme prompts. T_T

hmmm.. how bout something that's related to this episode of South Park.

Children are our future
Then why do some seem to be
The devil incarnent to me?

Haven't watched South Park at freakin' all, but something very humorous comes to mind.

o/////o Yesh! Very amazing Spazz. You never cease to amaze me. Hehe. And this particular piece gets me all excited..


And how about.. um.. "What at first sight seems a remedy is in reality a poison." ~Alexander Hamilton. Best quote ever.

Could you mess and poke and play with it? Pllzzz.

I'm sorry I haven't been able to get to the prompts. >_< I might never be able to get to them, even though I have some ideas. I'm gonna need a good few hours to get them done. I'm sorry if I never get around to it though; I work better with on-a-whim inspiration.

Speaking of which, look what I wrote. Just a warning though, there's some suggestive material.

Light brown hair in shaggy spikes,
Lithe build and a pair of big blue eyes,
Caramel skin and a cracking voice,
I want him to be my boy-toy.

He walks in the classroom and hesitates,
Shy and sweet, and that’s just how I like them.
I can’t help myself, watching the swing of narrow hips.
He’s pushed by a peer and his lips form a pout.
Aw, look at his lips! So red and lickable...
Oh, boy, I want that boy.

Sweet little thing, hardly thirteen years old,
But I gotta have him in my hold.
I guess I should ask him to stay after class.
So naive, he will be my boy.

Hey, little guy, stay after class,
‘Cause I wanna get a hold of your cute little ass!
I gotta hear you moan, gotta hear you squeal,
Your cracking little voice is gonna fill me with zeal!
You’re so cute and vulnerable,
It’s a turn-on,
I’m sorry!
I can’t help it if I like innocent boys...

The bell’s gonna ring,
And I can’t wait!
I can practically feel myself salivate.
Our relationship’s gonna begin at that sound,
And I’m gonna have myself a sweet boy-toy.

If you can't get the gist, it's basically in the eyes of a pedophile-teacher as she admires a student in her class that she's lusting for.

To that prompt, I have written this (click).

Now, I know it isn't quite what you had in mind, Jerky, and you probably haven't read the Twilight series because it's aimed at a younger audience. Still, the purpose of a prompt is to write what comes to mind. Hope you can appreciate it anyway, even though it isn't quite your type.

awwww that was nice; I'm glad I could have a small hand in that. You're a great writer.

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it!

I'll get to the other prompt eventually...