Writing, Ideas, & Stories
She writes and writes and writes. I’ve seen her draw a rose once but she prefers to write.
Her days are long with no one to talk to except her journal. People always leave but never her journal.
House to house and family to family she will always have her stories. Wars are raged and planets explode in her stories.
Living on a foreign planet far away from this one. She searches through her writing, through her journal, through her stories to find the one.
Quick fix – quick tear – quick end.
Covering holes you don’t want others to see. They see right threw you, we see right threw you. We know you stole the hot pocket.
Swaying side to side to the radio pop. Waiting with everyone for the beat drop.
The night is crisp with quiet raindrops. Watching the city below from the rooftops.
Can go all night nonstop. Watch her dance and shake on the tabletop.
He is ready for anything even the partner swap. Work overtime in the sweatshop.
In the gutters with nothing but a tank top. Better than up in a treetop.
Early November they come out. Never one without the other. Like there was ever a doubt. They are basically brothers. Retriever them from their hideouts. Just ask your mother. They will stay out throughout. Honey go and get your grandmother. I can’t believe how fast they sprout. You will never find another.
She wields her blade with force and is guided by justice. Eyes see nothing behind a teal rag. The blade is her eyes. A small scale occupies the non sword hand. Delecate and fragile as she once was. She is justice.
Your princess is here. The fairy tale begins now. Once upon a time there was tale with huge expectations. The night was average and the beer was cold. She is an amazing pinball player. Maybe this is a fairy tale.
Its almost in your grasps. Reach for the sky partner. Follow the words of our childhood sheriff.
Close your eyes and cover your gasp. You lose one but you’ll find another copartner. Troubles can be hard just remember your a true seraph.
He shares himself with the water. Purity and light to the touch as silk. His curly hair in the green light reminds him of seaweed. Mint and whisky swish around his mouth as he goes back for seconds. Reflection takes shape as greed. Greed lake and beware of her relentless pull.
Look at him walking across the floor- tangled in his own web. Emails ring with the news of first steps- stepping all over the now. Rockets shooting in the air and light blue smoke falls into the earth.
Walking these eggshells from bees to birds. Parking parallel to our once beloved four-seater. Take lots of pictures of Winter Wonderland, you only get one.
Doves flying perpendicular to the dozen cans racing against pavement. This bed is cold, his family comes to visit twice a week in my weakened state. They gather around, red roses and all, to pay respect to the once tangled web.
Common ground and a two way street are on opposite sides of the world. If your in the wrong place start in the underworld.
Baking a pie to feed your most wanted. The scraps are in the trash and it’s like I’m haunted.
They gather around to watch you open your presents under the tree. I can still hear her scream that malevolent banshee.
Her eyes flicker under the raising sun on a Sunday morning. Gather around the cross and weep and your not alone in this rainy mourning.
Saint's Muse 