The Werewolf's Sonnet

I see the moon's reflection in your eyes;
They tell of blissful runs through icy nights,
Your reign that lasts sunset to sunrise.
I know the story of the werewolves' flight.
I see the lust for blood inside your soul;
It tells the madness haunting ev'ry month:
The pearly orb that renders hearts ice cold,
The sign for you to begin your frightful hunt.
This is your curse that tortures always, friend.
It will stay with you 'til the day you die,
Unsettling torment with you to the end.
Never will you be free, slave of the sky.
The moon is round; I hear the howls tonight,
The werewolves prowl and hunt and feast and fight.

A short prose (DELETED)

November 7th, 2008:
No one reads this, but in the event that this picks up eventually and someone decides to read this far back, here's an explanation:

Dear readers who so faithfully waste their time to read this,

I wrote this prose as an observation of someone who I found fascinating, but never had the balls to get to know.
However... I have gotten to know him on a very personal and intimate level. Out of respect for him, I'm deleting what I wrote and keeping it to myself, where it belongs.
No, it was not dissing Mac in any way (yeah, found out his name; I wrote it before that point in time). It was just way off and my thoughts on his smile are no one else's business.
Sorry, but don't worry. It really was not worth reading.
~Aidan A. Ryan

P.S. If you actually care why I didn't delete the post altogether: 1, I rather keep it on record that something was written. 2, I have no fuckin idea how to delete posts x_x 3, stfu and give me a cookie.


But somewhere, hidden behind the hair and metal, I saw him smile.

It was so innocent and childlike.

Limerick Time!

There once was a penguin in a hat
He tried to whore out the cat
But her boy, the panda
Beat him with a Fanta
And broke his knees with a baseball bat

A few old assignments

Did these for my creative writing class early last semester.

For this one, he wrote down those two lines on the board and we had to build on it any way we felt like. In about two minutes.

"Things are not as they appear.
I am not who you think I am."

The words rang over and over in her head. Why was this always happening? It was always one step forward, two steps back. This mystery was just eating away at her, twisting at her brain like a fork at spaghetti. Her anxiety had also been resurfacing. She was feeling short of breath and like her stomach was being pulled out through her navel. Reaching for her cigarettes, she realized the pack was empty and she cursed under her breath.

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We were given an adjective noun thingy and had to describe it in one or two sentences in a way that gave a clear image without using that word. I used "beauty."

I stopped, my heart beating against my chest, threatening to break free of my ribcage. Here she was, my childhood best friend, standing before me, her hair framing her eyes that could express anything without changing, and cascading over her slender shoulders and feminine curves.

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This one, we had to pick a place, and give it a feeling and a character. And the character had to be doing something related to the setting. I chose a car, loss as the feeling, and kept the character nameless. Yeah, this is an emo piece of crap, yet this is the one I want the most feedback on.

She wiped the tears from her eyes in order to see the road clearly. She hadn't even noticed she was crying again until those blurred brakelights came dangerously close. Breathing rapidly, she soon recovered from the shock of the near collision, and it faded back into sorrow.
She knew she was being ridiculous. He broke up with her three weeks ago, and she knew he was over her (it hadn't taken long for him). But she just could not escape that feeling... That feeling of once knowing happiness, of knowing she was safe in his embrace, of looking into his eyes and knowing she was loved, and having it all, in a five minute phone call, torn away. The feeling of knowing it was her own fault he didn't want anything to do with her, and that she was the one that messed everything up, no matter how much she wanted to be able to blame him.
Apart from the sound of her car's engine, and the occasional horns (whether they were directed at her, she didn't know nor care) or sirens, it was silent. Desperate to break said silence, and hopefully take her mind of things, she turned on the CD player.
"Me to me atte soshite kotoba o kawashita
Mune ga takanatte egao de kakushita
Kimi o shiranakatta koro ni
Modorenaku narisou de"
Ayumi Hamasaki's "Because of You..." What she knew of the lyrics only further reminded her of him. Frustrated, she turned it back off.
Coming to a stop at a red light, she finally became conscious of the outside world again, and of the fact that her feet were killing her. Praying that light didn't change, she took off her boots, careful to keep a foot on the break, and slipped a sandal that she always kept in her car for that purpose, onto her right foot.
Her hand brushed against the swollen skin on her ankle where her tattoo was. "FREEDOM, BEAUTY, TRUTH, and above all else... LOVE." The words from her favorite romance (and only one of two she could even tolerate), Moulin Rouge.. An other story of love, deception and loss.. She had gotten that tattoo with him, thankful now that they hadn't decided to do something stupid, like get each other's name. But nonetheless, it felt as though the universe wanted to remind her of him and how miserable she was.
The light turned green. She put her foot on the acceleration. Not knowing why, she reached for her phone and pressed his number on speed dial, which she had never reset. Her thumb paused over the "Talk" button as she glanced from the road to the phone. She wanted nothing more than to just talk to him again, but knew he would never answer. And yet, for some odd reason, she pressed the button and held the phone up to her ear. It rang only twice.
"Hello?" he said.
Her heart stopped and her stomach did a cartwheel. She had never expected him to answer. "D-Dan?" she stuttered.
But then a familiar woman's voice came over, giving instructions to leave a voicemail. His idea of a joke, which of course, was something everyone else was doing. Frustrated yet again, not realizing she was crying again, she slammed her phone shut. The screen read "1:36 AM."
Whether she failed to realize the headlights followed by red and blue, swerving from lane to lane were heading straight to her before it was too late to react, or whether she welcomed it, no one ever knew.
"Time of death: 1:41 AM."