Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

What’s to be done?

My soulmate got lost in the sun,
her sapphire eyes could not resist the allure,
all over the place, for a time,
inked with my initials, when the clock struck midnight,
raised from the dead bedroom a dull life brings,
I watched her whisper my name, like a prayer, as she came to her senses.

Before I held the universe to ransom,
life was just a thing that happened to me,
and yet, as soon as I pointed a gun at the throat of fate,
clear skies, dry eyes and surprises surrounded me.
Kismet can be one hell of a provider, when she wants to be.

Long after the night ended,
over legions of land and oceans,
violet kisses, so sweet and soul consuming lingered upon her lips,
enchanted by my impatient hands and hungry soul,
so that she’d remember to hunt for me when the sun rose.

A mad girl is a determined girl,
so set on her dreams, that she can barely sleep to see them,
holding the clouds and smoke of the city in her hands,
linking them together, until she has something to rest her head upon,
inching closer to the wonders of escaping the waking world.

Honestly, I have been mad since the day I was made,
on the road to unravelling the second I started to breath,
like the blood covered lady of Inverness,
lost, like my lover, to the pursuit of power.
I’ve been told that she likes me like that,
senseless and spirited,
to her, dangerously devoted.
Everybody backs away, but she? She runs.
Runs towards me, her arms around me, because she’s never had it so good.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

You warmed my soul,
as I arrived in the winter of my life.
I spy my favourite colour,
hiding behind the lenses of your glasses,
and I am reminded of how tightly you clutched my hand,
as the rain began to fall,
last summer on the beach,
my lipstick staining your trembling lips,
as the showers from the sky joined the sea.
You are my tragic heroine,
a Princess, pained by a prophecy,
reaching for my waiting hand as we wander into the realms of blood soaked madness.

Destined to lead,
but never sure of yourself,
doubting your reflection in shadowy corners,
I speak with your voice and drag you from your solitude.
You call me your sweetheart
sighing in unison,
our sweet union is blessed in breathless embraces,
the storm staring through the window,
I am bound to the bedpost,
Lady Macbeth, at the mercy of her mad love.

I do not say your name,
not even when you charm rivers from me,
not even when you make me writhe like I am possessed.
I do not say your name,
for it is cursed, just like our love,
a poisoned chalice that we both drink from,
because dying in ecstasy means more than being alive.

I am your only comfort as the sky cracks under the force of thunder,
lightning lighting up the room,
before it is banished to bleakness again,
and again,
your blue eyes are buried in my body,
the old King is buried in the back yard,
and the blood on our hands looks just like water, in the dark.