Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Fire Of My Loins

I am sitting in a whirlwind,

of woeful, wistful voices,

veering closer,

as I sit with my smug smile,

and my cheap notebooks,

full of cheap cracks,

about everyone I perceive to have punished me.

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I close my windows,

just to make sure I’m alone,

waking up when both the sun and moon are sleeping,

so the city is my own,

and I do not have to share.

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Line to line,

I get by fine,

prosey,

pretentious Princess,

fucking my feelings,

and my finest work,

every night,

because they satisfy me,

in a way no man or woman ever could.

Screaming silently,

drowning in my own divine decadence,

dreaming in Spanglish,

slow motion declarations of devotion,

from a carousel of cancelled affections.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Good Morning, Starlight

Good morning, Starlight.
I am awake,
encased in your embrace.
My beauty is stained with blood,
resting on your chest,
a tapestry of scratches,
I am proud to have sewn.
It has been six hours,
since we saw our subject.
I purr your name,
an eager kitten,
sleepily,
softly padding after you,
to the car,
to see our latest adventure,
in the frightened, febrile flesh.

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Ah, yes.
He sleeps so sweetly,
his glassy eyes gaze,
burning a hole through the map of hair
and splatter stains,
that tell a story,
on the carpet of your car trunk.
Gold and red,
go so well,
underneath the morning sun,
that illuminates what we did,
when the moon came to visit.

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As the cold air eats away at us,
I lay,
playful,
in his tomb,
as you wrestle with your guilt,
and his corpse,
in low, lazy grass.
Chainsaw changing the scene,
as I dream of tonight’s adventure.
Moonlight.
Music.
Murder.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

13th November

Black and white,

basked in moonlight,

monochrome mistress,

of my ungranted wishes,

I am in the garden,

guarding my heart from your head full of hopes and dreams.

I have been seen,

by the stars,

staring at a telephone,

that projects classic scenes,

black and white,

like me,

trains and roaring lions,

and a kiss,

that could belong to us,

if I only had the nerve,

to give my heart,

to the intentions and attentions of your brain.

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I am at home with the horror of heartbreak,

breaking my own heart,

with my own hands,

keeping her locked away,

black and white,

black and blue.

She’s too sweet,

for the dusky,

beaten up streets,

she’s been buried,

under her own unrealistic expectations,

living underneath the underground,

where she was first split,

spilling all across the tracks,

until I picked her up,

patching her up,

promising that I would keep her safe,

but…

You are looming in the doorway,

drumming your fingers on the frame,

tempting me,

with a trail of torrential trailers,

of our forever love together,

and I followed it…

Goodness, gracious, Gretal,

here we go again.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

A Day In Which She Wasn’t Late (For Once)

We hold on to the strangest things,

in the ten minutes of turmoil,

from bridges to crosses.

I hold on to the other day,

to distract me from the crowded silence.

I hold on to the other day,

when I counted the seconds,

until I could count the characters in your reply.

Now I am waiting again,

buried underneath the dreams of the damned,

daring to dream my own nightmare,

where my heart hurts,

then heals itself,

as I twist it into whatever you desire.

I am built for your embrace,

holding the pole,

just to be safe,

resisting the urge to unfold into you entirely,

wishing I could,

wasting another thought,

on the one who is busy,

but hopefully,

still seeing me somewhere in his mind’s eye.

I am carrying my whole life in a case,

for a couple of days,

and for the first time,

on one of my many quests to escape,

I just want to go home,

to you.

Do you understand?

I don’t want to be alone,

for the first time.

I don’t want to be alone.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Night Walks

The world flickers,

fading away,

as you tell me,

that you think I could be meant for you.

I start to wonder,

my hair at the mercy of the wind,

my heart at the mercy of your own,

in a new world,

that builds up,

as you build up the courage to kiss me…

 

I start to wonder,

why the man who believes in nothing,

made an exemption for me.


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RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
In The Garden Of The Free Children
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