She Bled Red Wine

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

Moving On…

Only half done, the sleeve…  but I am pleased. Four ravens. Four souls carried from here to there. As for the giant one on my leg – that’s my soul, and she can wait. She tried, and she failed, so the lesson was learned. There is still strength in fragility. Beauty in broken wings. And … More Moving On…

Gone.

… after she died I breathed in the sorrow of everyone else. It was so thick and so heavy. I didn’t bend. I didn’t lean. Or need from anyone. I let it all unfold, and I let them all grieve in the way they they needed to. Then, someone showed me the video of her … More Gone.

Words Sewn Together

I ache, from carrying the burden of your collected pain. Pain that you gather as you fall down in the door ways of home after home. I could decorate willow trees, with trinkets of sorrow, all yours, for miles. Sadness in every colour. But I sew it all together, instead, and remind you of the … More Words Sewn Together

Just Sad.

Intellectually – it’s easy to acknowledge that there are so many different types of people in this world, and that those different types are necessary to make it all work – all go around – all turn, so to speak. It takes the hard asses, and the soft gentle types to make the different things … More Just Sad.

Hanged.

At some point in my youth, the rosy cheeks and the honest eyes became a curse that the wretched ripped at, like a bloodthirsty feeding on pure innocence. I remember the feeling, of the decline in desire; to care or be cared for. Solitude was a safer companion. Suspicious observation a far more effective tool … More Hanged.

Home

Restless and cold, my home; more like the womb of a demon. Broken mirrors, and busted corners, a crawl space for the cleft and gut wrenching begging voices that petition the deficiency in me. The unseen hands that scratch at my legs, waiting for me to kneel. Only the good die young, he said. You … More Home

Pull…

We can undo the knot, that keeps it all in. You can walk away with it, still attached to the skin and I will unravel. Peel. Fray, and open up like a unbound flower. Allowed to breath from the first time. To breathe, and then to wilt, and fall limply to my knees, and you … More Pull…