Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dream and it might come true

Meekly, she comes before me,
her lips parted as she prays,
aching and consumed by the cruelty of life before love,
it’s way past time, but I let that pass me by, and I just hold her.

Reborn, like a saviour on a Sunday,
I am fresh in her fantasies,
lace on my skin, petals in my perfume,
overboard in our oceanside dreams,
vivid and vibrant,
eternally violet,
standing out against a colourless sky.

All it took was a few steps,
swept from one world to another,
high as the spirits that carry our secrets across borders,
like little love letters.
I held her, and she was safe.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Back On The Boat

My mistress’ eyes are the only thing I see when I sleep.
However hard I try to escape the bounds of boundless affection,
all I do is dream of her glacial gaze,
in the service of a temptress,
reeling all day, long after I have awoken.
It isn’t a bad life, to be in love.

Last night, she told me that I have stolen her sleep,
opening the windows of her mind and gliding in,
visiting when night falls, to leave my love for her to find when morning comes.
Every day, she says, she wakes up with my lipstick trailing down her tender, slender throat.
So it goes.

All we do is dream,
stuck in a cycle of wanting but never getting,
having, for just a second, with closed eyes and distant bodies.
Life is so tough, when my lover goes to war,
I just dream of her eyes, and await her return.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Mo Bhean

My sweet dream,

like a lilac sky, spied by hopeful lovers,

the softness of silk on exhausted skin,

the roaring, rapturous cries of the sea as she bows to the moon’s will,

a single poppy in a field of trauma.

You are my escape,

opiate opportunity,

infinite,

endlessly adored by the one that you have enchanted,

and you smile, with no idea of the seismic consequences of such an action,

soft, stray strands of hair falling over your eyes,

hypnotic,

harmful.

Such a dangerous gaze you hold,

with no idea of the power that it wields,

and what it does to a poor girl like me,

that has never seen the likes of you before.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Made

I’d like to say I was made somewhere,

but I don’t know that I’m complete.

A naive version of myself thought this would be a settled point in my life,

but she was deluded in the most darling way,

footsteps receding as she raises her eyes to the stars,

hopeful and hungry.

I have washed up on many beaches,

daughter of many shores,

never sure of which way to wander when the whistling wind calls,

just going wherever the breeze and the waves take me.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Spooky Season, Writing

Old Scratch – Day Five

Tonight, when I go to sleep, I am going to take the lantern from him. I don’t know how, but I think if I do, something will change. I got so close last night.

Last night’s dream was the same, for the most part. I’m not even sure they are dreams anymore, it’s like he takes me away somewhere, when I’m too weak to stop him. He likes to torment me, to torture me.

I walked towards the lantern, as he laughed, taunting me with the incessant whispering.

“Little fawn…” His voice was husky, with an almost playful tone, like that creepy uncle you plead with your parents not to invite to your birthday party. Every time he spoke, I saw his wide smile, the towering top hat, his eyes, black like coal, that seemed to dart from place to place within seconds. “Come home, my little fawn…”

I kept staring ahead, fixing my eyes on the lantern, walking and walking until I saw it within my grasp. As always, I extended my hands towards it, the pain of his hands upon mine as I reached for it. The manic light was flashing.

Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red.

His laughter rang out, loud like a bell, and I should have been awake, but again, he kept me with him, so I held on, pushing myself through his searing grasp, until my fingertips rested on the lantern.

His face was across from mine, and as I wrapped my hands around the lantern, his immediately fell. Gone was the smile. Silent was the laughter. He looked as helpless as he had made me feel.

He reached forward, grabbing at the lantern, pushing me, pulling it, and we struggled.

“Be a good girl…” He mumbled breathlessly, pulling my fingers until I worried that they’d break. I held on as long as I could until my body gave out, and once again, I was falling.

The lantern lit up his face again, his smile had returned, and he cried out one last thing before I awoke.

“I’ll see you again, little fawn!”