I wrapped her, in red ribbon. I breathed against her skin, and heard her thoughts crashing against the inside of my skull, like bones clicking when stretched too far. She ached. Though I didn’t know why. Nor could I ask. Not yet. Her eyes changed colour with each mechanical snap of the lens. A flash … More She Bled Red Wine
In the aftermath of the tippled boxes come undone; ribbons untied, and words scraped from corners of a pale skinned mind, unrefined; do I say I am sorry? When I was just a girl, in dresses printed in sunshine and sewn together with trust, I learned that words mean very little. Unless, they cause an … More Boxes Undone
I have always mocked my brothers for their mushy well put together strings of loving almost song like things they say to their wives and girlfriends while in my company. On some occasions I will pretend to need to wind down a window to throw up. They use affectionate names, and when in each others … More How Not to Write a Love Poem
Your veins share a portion of ruthlessness with my rib cage. My blackened lungs. A certain unwavering determination to spit in the faces of those who dont beleive in you. Your hands grew lines a long time ago, etched by Arabic scribe. Fine lines that tell of only dark things. Fairy Tales of laughter, inside … More
S sat on her haunches, head tilted slightly, watching J sleep. It was more of a ‘willing J to wake up’, really, but so far had been choosing to do it silently. With patience not being one of her strongest suits, S took her index finger and jabbed J in the forehead. J rolled over … More The (Un)Secret Childhood Dialogue Chronicles – Ninja.
There is a weakness in the voice of the man who bends only to gawk. The man who believes that valour always settles in an attractive sort of subtle distinction on his suit of shining armour. There is a weakness in the man who wants so badly to drape a flower on his arm, and … More Weak Knights
A ‘do’, Like a Cockatoo. Reminded me, of you. You being the holler-er, of feathered things. Miss you. Me.
I have ligature marks on my ankles, from the rope that I use every day. I fasten the weights of observed pain and of of expected guilt, of spoken sorrow, and of your mournful shame to my dulled and tired body, and I climb into the water again. I don’t want to drown. I don’t … More Manotonous
If I lick your face will you dress up as a viking princess?? Please… *grin*