Scarlet Gown

Blood coursed from her veins, seduced by the warm bathwater.

Diffusing through her liquid tomb, it billowed around her legs and hugged her body. It flowed out of her as had his love for her from the cavity left by his decayed heart.

Red from white, her skin released her gown for their dark wedding. As he drank the poisoned present she left for him, she floated in her spent life. 

They both slowly faded. 

A red bride and empty groom, scarlet and hollow they would be.  

Forever. 






Photo Credit: Subbotina Anna (Adobe Stock)

Stubborn

I took a sip of water straight from the tap. It was so cool, but I drank until I was full. I stood ups and wiped the water from mouth. I heard the door open. Slowly at first, then it stopped. I waited. 

I jumped as the door slammed open, and slammed into the wall. 

I knew it was her. 

The smell, which wafted in with the opening of the door, was horrid. Rotten, like a cheerleader in pajamas who hasn’t showered for days.

She was dead. 

The mud smeared across his clothes, in his hair and under his fingernails told him so. 

The smell was stronger now, as he heard her shamble to the entrance to the kitchen. 

“You always were stubborn. I should have dug a deeper hole. 

Wasted

Jealousy

feasts 

Never

satiated 

It eats you 

Alive

Breeds hate

murders love

Wasted life

Dead Wood

of the several stacked by the wall

different people were uncomfortable

lying on the dead

Stolen Sacrifice

and the drum beat

incessantly

Driving the thought

Deeper 

His brain aches with

guilt

His heart full of 

sorrow

Borrowed from the 

overseers

District chose him to 

die

Overseers unable to 

look

Unable to watch unearned

death

Sacrifice innocent men to 

die

Saves rest to betray 

later. 

Blood and Lace

Doing things, minute and

Deep

Start the process, begins

the pain

It spills over onto the white

Lace

Stillborn

Head 

And legs

Stillborn clot

Roots still in 

roots still digging at

my soul

Cause/Effect

Forgot to pay a bill
Homeless in ten years

Kids don't clean their rooms
Worthless hoarders dying in their filth

Muscle pain in the morning
Cancer by dinner

Get out of bed
Earth consumed by catastrophic
cataclysmic, doomsday
explosive fireball of an apocalypse

Full service Plague

Plague in  my head
Lays waste to cells
Dulls emotions.
Buries me when it’s done

Nix

god
demon
risen from hell

Banished, too
evil
sadistic

Fatuous in
Hell
lowly demon

children starve
sick
die

innocents
sodomy,
raped

butcher-kill
corpses

hellbound nothing
earthly cockatrice

blight of humans
or

Fairy tale....

much better story as 
nix-fiction

Bloody Treat

The skin comes off, first in small pieces, then in whole sections. Using a finger from only one hand he picks at the wet skin and has problems grabbing it. He finally manages to pinch the flesh, but puts ever more gingerly. Slow and steady he pulls from the wrist to the crook of the elbow. This piece is wider, so he grabs the steak knife and says gently. He rolls the skin off the arm and throws it over his shoulder. The skin hasn’t been hitting the ground. His dog is very happy. 

George makes a note of this. He still doesn’t have full control over him yet, but at least he is feeding him. He’d rather have bigger pieces, like the ones the man served himself at dinner. But He thinks it might take great effort, a puppet or not, to cut your own skin off. 

The skin slips out from under George’s paw and it slaps into his muzzle. He shakes his head and the meat drops to the floor. He quickly snatches it up and chews and swallows. 

George licks his paws and the sides of his snout for the remaining morsels and realizes that the man is not cutting anymore. The sounds he hears coming from the man are no longer from the cutting. These sounds were different.  From the back of the couch, he sees the man shaking, then the sounds became louder, not unlike his howls when he gets hurt by the man or when the man leaves him outside to long in the snow. 

George’s tail wags, barks and trots to the front of the couch. He barked and growled at the man. He picked up the knife in his mouth and put it on the man’s lap. He barked his deep bark and bared his teeth. The man's eyes met George's and the crying immediately ceased. He nodded, fighting back tears.

The man whimpered. He picked up the knife and went to work on the underside of his arm. 

Black Slug

Sluggish
Drive myself
into the pain with
screeching past

smooth over my edges
wish to be forgotten
wish to be a void
                                                      look unto me and see

nothing.

Costumed nihilist

Rise up
As I walk

My fingers claw
at the inside of my shins
hands grab an pull

the rest of me
buoyed by half-assed
optimism


I stand within myself
push my feet into my skin
like climbing into favorite jeans

Slip my arms into worn skin
like an old coat, over my shoulders
I shake and thrust out my arms

Reposition my sockets to see through the
holes, I blink. Work my jaw and open my maw
widen it into a grotesque smile

I squeeze air through my lungs
because that's what people do when
they don't want to die.


----





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To be heard.

Hands slap my face
Futile revival of a
Sluggish mind

Catching up to a
Speeding cart
Carrying life away

Blind, fingerless
slapping, poking
the keyboard words


once they leave my
mind, they dissipate
into the air, gone

Ideas held back, run
and batter into my
skull, and scream

To be heard

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Life Excision

Exhausted
Each morning.

Nausea,
Stomach nervous.

Hate
Eluding logic.

Morals
Kill rationality.

Head,
Swooning balance.

Heart
Racing away

Anger
Barely tethered.

Writhing Contradiction

I have become my own worst enemy. I contradict myself at every turn, deciding and acting one day and questioning and chastising myself the next.

I have values, but when I assert them, become aggressive, I find the contradiction. The two, aggressive and passive, constantly push against each other. Never touching bet always fending each other off.

I know I am passionate, but I hate interacting with people, which is also at odds with how I want friends. I know there are people who are repulsed by how I voice my opinion, even my 'friends.' It saddens me, but I have tried playing the game and being positive, and it doesn't work.

So, I have two choices: Driving people away and being sad every once in awhile not having any friends or not being myself and having friends, all the while crawling in my skin.

Silhouette in the dark (Brain Droppings)

The kind of feeling of sorrow on which you can build.

It is how you feel when you feel sad or nostalgic, but then you realize 'I'm still here. I got this far. Fuck the world. The things this world puts in your way are but things. Words are but words. Nothing can get in your way

There is no impending doom of the future, or the futility of it all.

It is the closest to happiness, real happiness with myself.

Last Errand

Photo: clem-onojeghuo.com

"He won't wait long," Laura reminded herself. "Hurry."

Laura was ready to crack. Her ten year old voice whispered and whined through tears that still choked her up after all these years. She let it go on her whole life.

She was near tears now, but she would not do it...she would not cry.

"How many times without crying," she whispered "makes it okay to break down?"

Laura ignored looks from the people as she walked past the checkout lanes, and the whispers of the stock boys as she walked lop sided down the hardware aisle. She grabbed what she would need for him.  She looked down at the items Dale needed so badly that he had to beat her out the door.

Laura checked out, shuffled across the parking lot and sat in her car. She closed her eyes and tried to slow down her breathing.

"You want it fixed? Stop hiding the goddamn tools..." still echoed through her head. She instinctively shrunk away from the hit that had followed.


The phone rang and she jumped.

Laura was now sitting in her idling car in front of the house she has shared with her husband for three years.

Laura picked up before the first ring was done as she was getting out of the car, carrying what Dale had wanted and so deserved.

"I'm almost home," she said before he was done yelling. The cut on her lip cracked open sending that all too familiar coppery taste through her mouth as she gazed at the back of his head through the sliding glass window.

Laura dropped the sack with the steak sauce and the beer and opened the sliding glass door. He stood up and turned, already revved up in a bellowing yell. She silenced him as she plunged the screwdriver through his gaping, yelling mouth.


<<Droppings 3>>

Scenes from my mind (Brain Droppings)

Conviction

Walking the tightrope on the shoulder between the road and the gravel, he jerked every time a car sped by sending up a spray of water.

He stopped.

His narrow frame, shrouded in a hood and black trench coat, resembled that of death. He laughed to himself and threw his head back as he realized what he must do. The laugh was genuine because he was amazed that he had not thought of it before.

Tears of joy in his eyes, his face was a beacon of light in the dreary November day.

Witnesses would later say they saw him hopping and skipping as he ran in front of the semi.



<<Droppings 1>>