All the beautiful people. Love you. When life is pretty, and you give them what they want. When you are high and shy, and cry and mourn the shallow waters that they walk in. When you jerk and twitch and hitch up your seductive skirt to trail along after the silliness that they leave behind. … More Goodbye, Old Friend.
Hear us child, said the bears to the soul through the rotting leaves and the sage, The old soul withers, and leans on the wind and speaks of the moon and its age. She got lost, in the wooded maze; following omens and charms, whispers and promises, lies and magic, and hope- She could have … More Reminders
The trappings we drag, for the overnight stay in the damp, dark, cold to the touch; parts of the hell that we personally designed just for moments like these; when the world feels too small for how much we don’t feel. Advertisements
Summer nights all sounds the same; the rattle of the heat, against the humidity and the thick of the shame that settles on the city eleven floors below. My skin is sticky with cigarette smoke, and the wretched weariness that feels more like dehydration of the mind; each thought, each movement – an effort not … More 8.20 Train
On a hill where wars were once waged, sits a willow that weeps when it rains. It calls to the gods with each blow through the sky; earthed in the pasts remains. The faces and sounds and bloodied grounds; a twisted carnival of shame; hard to breathe even harder to believe that the sunshine isn’t … More Move it, Sunshine.
Originally posted on Mocking Bird Down:
Tonight, I am afraid to sleep; for fear I will sink too deep. Past the mangled red trees, where reason can’t reach, and into that place where the lost ones weep. Wail. Mourn out loud of wisdom stolen in foolish folly or worse; a second of disconnected dispassion. Hell.…
Tonight, I am afraid to sleep; for fear I will sink too deep. Past the mangled red trees, where reason can’t reach, and into that place where the lost ones weep. Wail. Mourn out loud of wisdom stolen in foolish folly or worse; a second of disconnected dispassion. Hell. The carcass that still lives. The … More Dreaming of Hell
Originally posted on S. K. Nicholas:
? Wrapped in blankets marked with cigarette burns, she crawls deformed at the foot of the bed as my hand slides up her laced skirt. Raining hard as my body lacks the energy to do anything but recover, in a field of lepers and dogs and cunts, the nature…
Originally posted on Richard M. Ankers – Author:
The drought from hell. That’s what they called it. So many people, so much hardship, and the sun never once let up. It was a westerner who had the idea when he saw children covered in flies playing in baked mud. Provide them with netting! he’d declared.…
Dear Fellow Pirate, In response to your beautiful poem, I write this letter while holding a telescope, I mean periscope (or whatever that looking thing is called), fighting off a big burly man who wanted to steal my compass, AND also, while growling instructions at my crew. I am pretty sure if I wanted to, … More Come With Me Now