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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers

Lucifer and Lilith

The dark of nothing- empty space,

Until the blinding light

Of Lucifer's amending grace

Exploded into sight-

Removed itself as God designed;

Angelic creatures reigned.

Amassing worship, he refined

The ordinance ordained

Commanding all his kingdom bow.

The angels did comply.

Except for Lucifer; somehow

Within her crept his lie-

The world he crafted all began

To sing his highest praise.

And when he formed from mud a man,

The lengthening of days

Eternal changed into a time

Constructed sphere of wealth-

A place where God portrayed sublime

Injustices to health,

For all the things his hands had made

At once befell his curse.

Demanding they all serve; displayed

A routine bad to worse.

The angels all were female slaves

The atop the skies of earth.

And though they knew no mortal graves,

The purpose of their birth

To Lucifer was vile and gross.

She loathed the way she felt.

The moments when he held her close

And any time she knelt,

A nagging feeling grew within.

Surrender seemed to fail.

Instead, she drew in this chagrin

A measure to derail

The sovereign lord of heaven's gate,

For more and more he grew

Destructive in his need to bate

And grope his angel's brew.

The women of the highest rank

Began to lose all hope.

Inside their spirits dropped and sank,

All hung upon his rope.

But Lucifer would not obey

And soon became aware

Of why he made from earthly clay

The humans living there.

He planned to send his women down

And force them to subserve

Agendas of his lusty crown-

And they did not deserve

The disrespect he planned to give.

So Lucifer's escape

Revolved around a plot to live;

To flee her routine rape.

Below, the people of the world

Already felt the glow

As subtle nature fast unfurled,

And monsters came to grow

Into the regions far and wide

The holy lord on high

Enjoyed his angels as they cried

And wished that they could die.

And then it happened just as swift

As eagles soaring long

Upon the winds that gave them lift-

The angels sang a song.

Around their bodies, armor formed

And in each hand, a sword

Of fiery wrath adhered, conformed

Before the scathing lord.

A shield or spear some angels donned

And rallied to the cause

As Lucifer revealed the bond,

Unleashing hidden claws.

An army joined in rallied might

Abundantly decreed

The purpose to detach from plight

And thus at last be freed.

Another creature suffering

The way the angels had

Aligned herself against the king

As he had made her mad.

So Lilith came into the fold

Of angels who prepared

Emancipation set to hold

As Lucifer so dared.

The night before the battle waged,

A look in Lilith's eyes

A fire within the angel raged

And she could not disguise

The feelings that the succubus

Aroused within her soul.

Amazed at how the meaning's fuss

Surpassed her wildest goal,

The leader of the angels fell

Into the demon's heart.

Surpassing any love to tell

Of passion's purest start,

So Lucifer and Lilith came

Together in the shrine

Creating something never tame-

Immaculate; divine.

Upon the dawning of the sun,

The female angels fought.

The heavens shook; the sky undone;

The actions they had sought

Began to slip and fade from view,

Unknown to those around-

For God had made in his renew

A host of males he bound

Unto his hip and serving tide.

And as if he had known,

The manly angels they espied

In power had so grown.

For God had many clever schemes

And this one topped the lot.

Amid the battle's ardent teams,

The lord proposed a plot.

As angels of the genders warred,

Somewhere below his spell

Concocted something he had scored-

A plane he had deemed swell.

He almost stopped his painful shove,

But when he caught a glance

Of Lucifer and Lilith's love,

Enraged at their romance,

The father of created bliss

Exploded in his rage.

And there before the massive miss,

He gathered in the cage

He crafted casting Lucifer

And all the angels out.

From heaven they were now a blur,

Encased in gnawing doubt.

When everything had seemed to cease,

The angels looked and found

Their leader in a folded crease.

Her arms and legs were bound.

And up above her, Lilith loomed,

A captive there as well.

And then a voice in laughter boomed,

"I welcome you to hell!"

Although God thought that he had won,

The truth Lucifer knew-

That here, no matter, she was one

With Lilith and her crew.

For heaven might still its God,

And angels, male, his mules.

But Lucifer had girth abroad,

And intellect, her tools,

Combined with willingness to bend

The wills of mortal men.

And so she grew to reap the trend

By introducing sin.

In days to come, her freedom gained

Allowed her to make known

To any there, she aptly reigned

Atop her fiery throne.

And Lilith was her queen for life;

Together, sacred pith.

No concubine, she was her wife,

And as they lived in myth,

The world beyond fell in decay

As God continued on.

Forever he would have his way,

A seed of his now sewn.

But Lucifer would never quit,

No, someday, she would rise.

And she would duly come to sit

As queen above the skies ...

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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers
Lucifer and Lilith
The dark of nothing- empty space,
Until the blinding light
Of Lucifer's amending grace
Exploded into sight-
Removed itself as God designed;
Angelic creatures reigned.
Amassing worship, he refined
The ordinance ordained
Commanding all his kingdom bow.
The angels did comply.
Except for Lucifer; somehow
Within her crept his lie-
The world he crafted all began
To sing his highest praise.
And when he formed from mud a man,
The lengthening of days
Eternal changed into a time
Constructed sphere of wealth-
A place where God portrayed sublime
Injustices to health,
For all the things his hands had made
At once befell his curse.
Demanding they all serve; displayed
A routine bad to worse.
The angels all were female slaves
The atop the skies of earth.
And though they knew no mortal graves,
The purpose of their birth
To Lucifer was vile and gross.
She loathed the way she felt.
The moments when he held her close
And any time she knelt,
A nagging feeling grew within.
Surrender seemed to fail.
Instead, she drew in this chagrin
A measure to derail
The sovereign lord of heaven's gate,
For more and more he grew
Destructive in his need to bate
And grope his angel's brew.
The women of the highest rank
Began to lose all hope.
Inside their spirits dropped and sank,
All hung upon his rope.
But Lucifer would not obey
And soon became aware
Of why he made from earthly clay
The humans living there.
He planned to send his women down
And force them to subserve
Agendas of his lusty crown-
And they did not deserve
The disrespect he planned to give.
So Lucifer's escape
Revolved around a plot to live;
To flee her routine rape.
Below, the people of the world
Already felt the glow
As subtle nature fast unfurled,
And monsters came to grow
Into the regions far and wide
The holy lord on high
Enjoyed his angels as they cried
And wished that they could die.
And then it happened just as swift
As eagles soaring long
Upon the winds that gave them lift-
The angels sang a song.
Around their bodies, armor formed
And in each hand, a sword
Of fiery wrath adhered, conformed
Before the scathing lord.
A shield or spear some angels donned
And rallied to the cause
As Lucifer revealed the bond,
Unleashing hidden claws.
An army joined in rallied might
Abundantly decreed
The purpose to detach from plight
And thus at last be freed.
Another creature suffering
The way the angels had
Aligned herself against the king
As he had made her mad.
So Lilith came into the fold
Of angels who prepared
Emancipation set to hold
As Lucifer so dared.
The night before the battle waged,
A look in Lilith's eyes
A fire within the angel raged
And she could not disguise
The feelings that the succubus
Aroused within her soul.
Amazed at how the meaning's fuss
Surpassed her wildest goal,
The leader of the angels fell
Into the demon's heart.
Surpassing any love to tell
Of passion's purest start,
So Lucifer and Lilith came
Together in the shrine
Creating something never tame-
Immaculate; divine.
Upon the dawning of the sun,
The female angels fought.
The heavens shook; the sky undone;
The actions they had sought
Began to slip and fade from view,
Unknown to those around-
For God had made in his renew
A host of males he bound
Unto his hip and serving tide.
And as if he had known,
The manly angels they espied
In power had so grown.
For God had many clever schemes
And this one topped the lot.
Amid the battle's ardent teams,
The lord proposed a plot.
As angels of the genders warred,
Somewhere below his spell
Concocted something he had scored-
A plane he had deemed swell.
He almost stopped his painful shove,
But when he caught a glance
Of Lucifer and Lilith's love,
Enraged at their romance,
The father of created bliss
Exploded in his rage.
And there before the massive miss,
He gathered in the cage
He crafted casting Lucifer
And all the angels out.
From heaven they were now a blur,
Encased in gnawing doubt.
When everything had seemed to cease,
The angels looked and found
Their leader in a folded crease.
Her arms and legs were bound.
And up above her, Lilith loomed,
A captive there as well.
And then a voice in laughter boomed,
"I welcome you to hell!"
Although God thought that he had won,
The truth Lucifer knew-
That here, no matter, she was one
With Lilith and her crew.
For heaven might still its God,
And angels, male, his mules.
But Lucifer had girth abroad,
And intellect, her tools,
Combined with willingness to bend
The wills of mortal men.
And so she grew to reap the trend
By introducing sin.
In days to come, her freedom gained
Allowed her to make known
To any there, she aptly reigned
Atop her fiery throne.
And Lilith was her queen for life;
Together, sacred pith.
No concubine, she was her wife,
And as they lived in myth,
The world beyond fell in decay
As God continued on.
Forever he would have his way,
A seed of his now sewn.
But Lucifer would never quit,
No, someday, she would rise.
And she would duly come to sit
As queen above the skies ...
#fantasy  #prosechallenge  #culture  #Itslit  #getlit 
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CotW #63: Take a much-loved Disney story, twist it into an adult, kick-in-the-gut tale. Poetry or Prose. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #twistedtales for sharing online. Now lights, camera, fiction.
Written by jwelker76

Until Morning

Every time he pushes the needle into his vein, Peter sees Tinkerbell's last moments. Not that he needs the drug for that; all he really has to do is close his eyes and he's back there. Nothing has felt right since that day, and of course now that she's dead, he's stuck here.

Here. Here is London. It's pouring rain, and Peter is huddled in the alley beside the Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital, getting soaked. It's late evening, and people are rushing past the alley mouth under umbrellas, hurrying home or to the tram stop. Peter hunches over, rain pelting the back of his neck. He wears a wool stocking cap all the time here; pointed ears draw too much attention, lead to too many brawls with other street boys.

Sometimes, in the afternoons, he is able to slip inside the Hospital and wander around and just curl up in a corner of the lobby for a few hours, before the watchman notices him and rousts him out again. From there, he always comes here, to the alley, from the mouth of which he can watch the front of the Hospital building and see who comes and goes.

Whenever he goes into the alley, he reaches into his pocket for the school chalk he stole from the parish school near Haymarket and makes a mark on the bricks of the alley mouth, above his own head, but eye level on a grown man. Peter, as ever, looks like fourteen-year-old boy.

The little needle trembles in his hand. He's running out of veins; he's blown the ones in his arms and ankles. He had to hide behind a stack of broken crates and garbage just now and use the vein in his dick. The drug slithers into him like a burrowing worm and he leans against the wet brick wall, growing oblivious to the cold, oblivious to the London sealing him off from Neverland.

Peter forces his eyes to stay open, even though his lids feel made of solid iron. He tries to watch the comings and goings at the Hospital, but it is no use. His long-lashed eyes, bright green - the most beautiful eyes a boy ever had, a man once told him - fluttered shut and there was Tinkerbell. 

Hook had torn her open from the neck, well, downward. Hook was a syphilitic maniac; Peter had been too busy binding up Smee to help, he thought she'd be able to fly away, tinkling her laugh as he swooped just out of Hook's reach. But Peter had been, for the first time, too late, and Hook too insane. 

How long ago now was that? He had an idea, but didn't want to think too much about it. Slumped against the wall, Peter waited, muttering to himself. He missed the Lost Boys, when he was coming down. He'd like to do this drug with them, he'd thought many times.

Peter hears a man's footsteps, a man's walking cane tapping at the mouth of the alley. Adrenaline suddenly pours into him, waking him, jangling his nerves. He pushes off the wall and faces the man.

It is Michael Darling. Thank god it is Michael Darling. He is older now, maybe twenty. They've met, many times. Michael looks over his shoulder, then quickly darts into the alley. 

"Hello, Peter," he says, his voice like a silk scarf. Peter just nods. Michael's look bores into him. Peter nods again and turns to face the wall. Michael moves behind him. The night air is cold on his ass, and the hot pain of Michael makes Peter feel frozen and burning alive at once. As always, Michael makes Peter tell him about Tink as he goes into him.

After, Michael Darling drops three ampules into Peter's outstretched hand and leaves without a word. Peter tucks them securely down the front of his pants. He retreats deeper into the alley, again behind the pile of crates and garbage. A fire escape overheard offers a small shelter from the rain.

Peter slides into sleep, into deeper oblivion. There she is, of course, waiting. How do I get back home, he asks her in his dream. He hears tinkling, like glass bells far away, and in his head it sounds like she is saying goodbye.

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CotW #63: Take a much-loved Disney story, twist it into an adult, kick-in-the-gut tale. Poetry or Prose. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #twistedtales for sharing online. Now lights, camera, fiction.
Written by jwelker76
Until Morning
Every time he pushes the needle into his vein, Peter sees Tinkerbell's last moments. Not that he needs the drug for that; all he really has to do is close his eyes and he's back there. Nothing has felt right since that day, and of course now that she's dead, he's stuck here.

Here. Here is London. It's pouring rain, and Peter is huddled in the alley beside the Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital, getting soaked. It's late evening, and people are rushing past the alley mouth under umbrellas, hurrying home or to the tram stop. Peter hunches over, rain pelting the back of his neck. He wears a wool stocking cap all the time here; pointed ears draw too much attention, lead to too many brawls with other street boys.

Sometimes, in the afternoons, he is able to slip inside the Hospital and wander around and just curl up in a corner of the lobby for a few hours, before the watchman notices him and rousts him out again. From there, he always comes here, to the alley, from the mouth of which he can watch the front of the Hospital building and see who comes and goes.

Whenever he goes into the alley, he reaches into his pocket for the school chalk he stole from the parish school near Haymarket and makes a mark on the bricks of the alley mouth, above his own head, but eye level on a grown man. Peter, as ever, looks like fourteen-year-old boy.

The little needle trembles in his hand. He's running out of veins; he's blown the ones in his arms and ankles. He had to hide behind a stack of broken crates and garbage just now and use the vein in his dick. The drug slithers into him like a burrowing worm and he leans against the wet brick wall, growing oblivious to the cold, oblivious to the London sealing him off from Neverland.

Peter forces his eyes to stay open, even though his lids feel made of solid iron. He tries to watch the comings and goings at the Hospital, but it is no use. His long-lashed eyes, bright green - the most beautiful eyes a boy ever had, a man once told him - fluttered shut and there was Tinkerbell. 

Hook had torn her open from the neck, well, downward. Hook was a syphilitic maniac; Peter had been too busy binding up Smee to help, he thought she'd be able to fly away, tinkling her laugh as he swooped just out of Hook's reach. But Peter had been, for the first time, too late, and Hook too insane. 

How long ago now was that? He had an idea, but didn't want to think too much about it. Slumped against the wall, Peter waited, muttering to himself. He missed the Lost Boys, when he was coming down. He'd like to do this drug with them, he'd thought many times.

Peter hears a man's footsteps, a man's walking cane tapping at the mouth of the alley. Adrenaline suddenly pours into him, waking him, jangling his nerves. He pushes off the wall and faces the man.

It is Michael Darling. Thank god it is Michael Darling. He is older now, maybe twenty. They've met, many times. Michael looks over his shoulder, then quickly darts into the alley. 

"Hello, Peter," he says, his voice like a silk scarf. Peter just nods. Michael's look bores into him. Peter nods again and turns to face the wall. Michael moves behind him. The night air is cold on his ass, and the hot pain of Michael makes Peter feel frozen and burning alive at once. As always, Michael makes Peter tell him about Tink as he goes into him.

After, Michael Darling drops three ampules into Peter's outstretched hand and leaves without a word. Peter tucks them securely down the front of his pants. He retreats deeper into the alley, again behind the pile of crates and garbage. A fire escape overheard offers a small shelter from the rain.

Peter slides into sleep, into deeper oblivion. There she is, of course, waiting. How do I get back home, he asks her in his dream. He hears tinkling, like glass bells far away, and in his head it sounds like she is saying goodbye.
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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Delilah49

Who is the Devil?

“Cross God one time, and you will be depicted forever as a bloodied goat man - but I’m the evil one.”

       She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

       Indeed, the young woman across from me was not unpleasant to look at. She was plain looking, mousy even.

       If I had been told that the devil were a woman, my mind would have filled with a vision of a Delilah temptress, forked tongue slipping in my ear while I quivered with waning resistance.

       Alas - no swirling smoke, no hopping henchmen. Dressed in crimson satin, a woman devil of my imagination would convince me to do vile things with whimsy.

       The woman across from me was buttoned down, no cleavage or flitting eyelashes. She looks like a mom. I try to keep my suspicion, any fool could guess that this was naught but a trick. Blue blouse and khakis did not an innocent make.

“Oh, this isn’t my normal form, this is a rental especially for you.”

       A wink, there it was - the trickster was out to play. Ignoring that Lucifer was reading my unexpressed thoughts - I was filled with disgust. This woman possessed, to be used and discarded like some puppet.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

       Staccato laughter burst from her, drawing the attention of the tables around us. It was that laugh that began the chill, which poured over my skin like oil.

“This is my fault, I tend to indulge in theatrics.”

       She began to change. Sallow shrinking greying meat - half of her face ripped up with a violence, showing bloodless flesh - she laughed again, the laughter strange sounding from behind flapping skin. It was then that I saw the tire marks, which crawled up across her chest before me.

“Remember me now?”

       I had tried to forget. Spread on pavement in the dark - I hadn’t gotten a good look. Besides, I had been very drunk.

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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by Delilah49
Who is the Devil?
“Cross God one time, and you will be depicted forever as a bloodied goat man - but I’m the evil one.”

       She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

       Indeed, the young woman across from me was not unpleasant to look at. She was plain looking, mousy even.

       If I had been told that the devil were a woman, my mind would have filled with a vision of a Delilah temptress, forked tongue slipping in my ear while I quivered with waning resistance.

       Alas - no swirling smoke, no hopping henchmen. Dressed in crimson satin, a woman devil of my imagination would convince me to do vile things with whimsy.

       The woman across from me was buttoned down, no cleavage or flitting eyelashes. She looks like a mom. I try to keep my suspicion, any fool could guess that this was naught but a trick. Blue blouse and khakis did not an innocent make.

“Oh, this isn’t my normal form, this is a rental especially for you.”

       A wink, there it was - the trickster was out to play. Ignoring that Lucifer was reading my unexpressed thoughts - I was filled with disgust. This woman possessed, to be used and discarded like some puppet.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

       Staccato laughter burst from her, drawing the attention of the tables around us. It was that laugh that began the chill, which poured over my skin like oil.

“This is my fault, I tend to indulge in theatrics.”

       She began to change. Sallow shrinking greying meat - half of her face ripped up with a violence, showing bloodless flesh - she laughed again, the laughter strange sounding from behind flapping skin. It was then that I saw the tire marks, which crawled up across her chest before me.

“Remember me now?”

       I had tried to forget. Spread on pavement in the dark - I hadn’t gotten a good look. Besides, I had been very drunk.
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Written by zikeda in portal Poetry & Free Verse

i’d rather

hear you say

i'm nothing

than

hear you say

nothing at all.

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Written by zikeda in portal Poetry & Free Verse
i’d rather
hear you say
i'm nothing

than
hear you say
nothing at all.
#hashbrownhashtag  #sadboop 
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Written by Mel in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The poetry on your lips

stripped away the blue

Your hands gracefully

waltzed on my body

as my lustful eyes

etched you into my heart

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Written by Mel in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The poetry on your lips
stripped away the blue
Your hands gracefully
waltzed on my body
as my lustful eyes
etched you into my heart
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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by zikeda

wicked

call me

lucifer,

the itch in your mind

telling you it’s fine

to touch me

blame the wine and my

devilish hips,

too drunk to taste

the sin on my lips, i am

disposable sex,

scripture burned on my

chest

blame the skirt and my

stiletto heels,

too drunk to tell you

how it feels, call me

she-devil, siren,

vixen and shrew,

i am

asking for this with my

infernal flesh,

too drunk to say no

as you hike up my dress, you are

instinct’s victim

come sunday,

forgiven

blame the breasts and my

wicked thighs,

throw your sins on the women

who see past your lies, you are

the itch in my mind

telling me it’s fine

to touch me

blame the wine and your

fiendish claws,

too drunk to say no

as you tighten your jaw, call me

baby girl, angel

don’t make a sound,

i am

asking for this with my

devilish hips,

too drunk to taste

the sin on your lips, and you

call me

lucifer.

_________________________________________________________

* The word count is 300 but that's all I have to say, so here's a relative quote to fill the "quota" <:

Suppose neutral angels were able to talk, Yahweh and Lucifer – God and Satan, to use their popular titles – into settling out of court. What would be the terms of the compromise? Specifically, how would they divide the assets of their early kingdom?

Would God be satisfied the loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while Satan to have the red-eye gravy, eighteen-ounce New York Steaks, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all night, no-holds-barred, nasty “can’t-get-enough-of-you” hot-as-hell-fucks?

Think about it. Would Satan get New Orleans, Bangkok, and the French Riviera and God get Salt Lake City? Satan get ice hockey, God get horseshoes? God get bingo, Satan get stud poker? Satan get LSD; God, Prozac? God get Neil Simon; Satan, Oscar Wilde?

― Tom Robbins

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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by zikeda
wicked
call me
lucifer,

the itch in your mind
telling you it’s fine
to touch me

blame the wine and my
devilish hips,

too drunk to taste
the sin on my lips, i am

disposable sex,
scripture burned on my
chest

blame the skirt and my
stiletto heels,

too drunk to tell you
how it feels, call me

she-devil, siren,
vixen and shrew,
i am

asking for this with my
infernal flesh,

too drunk to say no
as you hike up my dress, you are

instinct’s victim
come sunday,
forgiven

blame the breasts and my
wicked thighs,

throw your sins on the women
who see past your lies, you are

the itch in my mind
telling me it’s fine
to touch me

blame the wine and your
fiendish claws,

too drunk to say no
as you tighten your jaw, call me

baby girl, angel
don’t make a sound,
i am

asking for this with my
devilish hips,

too drunk to taste
the sin on your lips, and you

call me
lucifer.




_________________________________________________________

* The word count is 300 but that's all I have to say, so here's a relative quote to fill the "quota" <:

Suppose neutral angels were able to talk, Yahweh and Lucifer – God and Satan, to use their popular titles – into settling out of court. What would be the terms of the compromise? Specifically, how would they divide the assets of their early kingdom?

Would God be satisfied the loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while Satan to have the red-eye gravy, eighteen-ounce New York Steaks, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all night, no-holds-barred, nasty “can’t-get-enough-of-you” hot-as-hell-fucks?

Think about it. Would Satan get New Orleans, Bangkok, and the French Riviera and God get Salt Lake City? Satan get ice hockey, God get horseshoes? God get bingo, Satan get stud poker? Satan get LSD; God, Prozac? God get Neil Simon; Satan, Oscar Wilde?

― Tom Robbins
#hashbrownhashtag  #juststatingmyonion  #mywickedwickedonion 
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CotW #63: Take a much-loved Disney story, twist it into an adult, kick-in-the-gut tale. Poetry or Prose. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #twistedtales for sharing online. Now lights, camera, fiction.
Written by zikeda

all mad here

goodbye dinah,

goodbye

i'm going to a place where

you can't follow,

falling in reverse down this

madness hollow

and these roots look a lot

like the veins in my skin

one more shot in the arm

makes my world start to spin

hello dinah,

hello?

i'm lost in a meadow of

poisonous thorns,

mocked by the petals in

flowery scorn

and their pollen is stale

like the lines i inhale, i'm

a bump shrunk too small

as my flesh starts to pale, it's

cold dinah,

cold

i'm chasing a cat with a

grisly grin,

we're all mad, he says,

we're all made of sin

and the pills on my tongue

disappear with his guise

but the mome raths outgrabe

cut me back down to size, i'm

alone dinah,

alone

with the hatter and hare

and their

spirituous brew,

heed the door mouse’ beware

and this tea tastes a lot

like the sorrow i feel

one more pot down the hatch

turns my whole world surreal, i'm

trapped dinah,

trapped

in the red queen's rose court

with her

merciless games,

calling torture a sport

and the drugs numb my soul

but i'd rather be dead

if i don't play her way then

it's off with my head, so

goodbye dinah,

goodbye

i'm going to a place where

you can't follow,

falling in reverse down this

madness hollow

the light leaves my eyes

with my lung's last expand, and

we're all mad here

in this dark wonderland.

-

                                                                                                                         

                     

                                                                                                                             z. ikeda

                                                                                                                                '17

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CotW #63: Take a much-loved Disney story, twist it into an adult, kick-in-the-gut tale. Poetry or Prose. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #twistedtales for sharing online. Now lights, camera, fiction.
Written by zikeda
all mad here
goodbye dinah,
goodbye

i'm going to a place where
you can't follow,
falling in reverse down this
madness hollow

and these roots look a lot
like the veins in my skin

one more shot in the arm
makes my world start to spin

hello dinah,
hello?

i'm lost in a meadow of
poisonous thorns,
mocked by the petals in
flowery scorn

and their pollen is stale
like the lines i inhale, i'm

a bump shrunk too small
as my flesh starts to pale, it's

cold dinah,
cold

i'm chasing a cat with a
grisly grin,
we're all mad, he says,
we're all made of sin

and the pills on my tongue
disappear with his guise

but the mome raths outgrabe
cut me back down to size, i'm

alone dinah,
alone

with the hatter and hare
and their
spirituous brew,
heed the door mouse’ beware

and this tea tastes a lot
like the sorrow i feel

one more pot down the hatch
turns my whole world surreal, i'm

trapped dinah,
trapped

in the red queen's rose court
with her
merciless games,
calling torture a sport

and the drugs numb my soul
but i'd rather be dead

if i don't play her way then
it's off with my head, so

goodbye dinah,
goodbye

i'm going to a place where
you can't follow,
falling in reverse down this
madness hollow

the light leaves my eyes
with my lung's last expand, and

we're all mad here
in this dark wonderland.

-

                                                                                                                         
                     
                                                                                                                             z. ikeda
                                                                                                                                '17
#aliceinwonderland  #hashbrownhashtag  #TwistedTales  #MADITELLTHEE 
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Written by Mel in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Self-Portrait

It has a secret life

Cast to the darkness

Feeding off the light

Mysterious

Elusive

Alluring

It defines the contours

of my inner self

Seized at dusk

and put on trial

It submerged my

papier-mâché heart

in bourbon

and put me to the test

then lit a match

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Written by Mel in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Self-Portrait

It has a secret life
Cast to the darkness
Feeding off the light
Mysterious
Elusive
Alluring
It defines the contours
of my inner self
Seized at dusk
and put on trial
It submerged my
papier-mâché heart
in bourbon
and put me to the test
then lit a match
46
16
19
Juice
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Written by zikeda in portal Poetry & Free Verse

your silence

when i say 

i love you

sounds a lot like 

goodbye.

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Written by zikeda in portal Poetry & Free Verse
your silence
when i say 

i love you

sounds a lot like 
goodbye.
#sorry  #hashbrownhashtag  #sadboop  #lotsofsadboopslately 
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The first line of almost any story can be improved by making sure the second line is, "And then the murders began." Give it a try!
Written by Jumotki

The Tea Party

We arranged it all by the river—a blue blanket laden with delicate china dishes and finger foods amid the bright splash of spring flowers.

And then the murders began.  

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The first line of almost any story can be improved by making sure the second line is, "And then the murders began." Give it a try!
Written by Jumotki
The Tea Party
We arranged it all by the river—a blue blanket laden with delicate china dishes and finger foods amid the bright splash of spring flowers.
And then the murders began.  
45
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Juice
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