Creepers stand silent in white nightdresses. And I have wished for sharks in this lost at sea. My skin peeled back to bone, are we born like this, forged again in the honesty of dragons? Life is not a choice. Death is buried with the boxes. I count its intimacy in raindrops. On days like this … Continue reading Creepers
On the 10th of January 2017, Peter took the day off and made a pilgrimage to the little shop in Doncaster. Of course it was a coffee shop now. They were all bloody coffee shops now. He sat in a high backed armchair by the window holding the cup tight against his mouth until he felt … Continue reading Something close to Bowie
Check this post by the brilliant Ash, one of the bloggers whose work constantly pushes me to be a better writer.
Raw panic claws at her throat and throttles her breath at the sight of Michael.
He has stepped forward, an emissary for all of them, ignoring her closed eyelids, her plea to be left alone. The imploring gaze from bulging eyes holding her captive. Dropping his jaw to disclose the pool of spittle forming in his labial cavity.
Don’t. Stop. Breathing.
She hums tonelessly. Hands pressed to her ears. Willing them to block the harsh staccato of his voice from entering her mind.
You’ll kill us all if you do.
But there is no us, Michael, it’s all in my head they say.
Breathe. Do you hear me? Breathe.
Oh my, aren’t you dramatic today, Michael? I am in control the white-robed ones say. I don’t have to listen to you. What is this red liquid running across your cheek? Is this your pathetic attempt at crying? Don’t you know…
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Everyone knew Rule Number 1. A soft evening light had curled along the back of the sofa. Adam caught at it with his fingers,‘Don't play the innocent child with me, you know damn well that avoiding the bad things is all we care about.' ‘So why do I still feel like I’m failing some kind … Continue reading #Rule 1
in summer starlings sky-flesh falls, wild with tattoos but even here, here on this ground of melted snow I cannot hide my footprints Tanka: 5-7-5-7-7 Summer & Snow prompt from: Ramblings of a writer
Truth is a cunning dancer. Smoke over fire, its drums beat out my heart. And I quantify my verdicts with the naivety of their restless pounding. Armageddon was scattered once, dismantled in the bunkers of preparation. I drive this life hard. Peace is not enough, sleep is not enough, death is not enough, for … Continue reading Gunsmoke