Writing, Ideas, & Stories
inhale, exhale at first crack
swishing in the clouds, harmony of mouthwash.
brothers on my bolt.
hovering storm plays their encore.
father grasped thy by my throat &
heaved into the black of night.
sister rain wailed.
crashing deep into our uncles wide belly.
last year
a shakey handoff
(at best)
constantly choosing between
life and sleep
haven’t slept in years
when i do;
my dreams were a gothic spinoff
love interest played by wednesday.
black and white lens
for thee ending send-off
all black molotov
(for those who couldn’t be here)
with fireworks
and a rip off.
just living
a false dream
someone elses
somedays, it’s a cape
flying around
catching bad guys
other days, it’s a noose
holding me still
gasping for another way out;
someone else’s dream
like a torch bearer
we only run forward
pray for me
they keep talkin’ on me
keep that mouth away from me.
just a worldy wonder
a monolith
you leavin’ with filth
leavin’ here real high, a –
they keep coming; to room 306-
they checked in, locked the door, and dissapeared-
they order room service, but no one is their to pick it up
they call it ghost
hunters come with their cameras
leave ith empty pockets
all to see room 306.
i’ve seen him, not a they, a he
he comes late and leaves early
he orders food just before he arrives
he doesn’t communicate anymore
just a being
exisiting in a shell
the hunters were so close
to catching a real ghost
she asked if
i was blinded by the lights;
two k set up in a alley
behind a Wendy
are they, too bright’
when the scripture hit the pen
humanity paused-
those lights
those lights filled a stadium three times the earth
a field for gods to play finger football
& were too puny to even place a bet
so no, thee-
these lights were made for mortals
mortal pain mortal gain
all in the ring
mortal kombat
i don’t believe
like i used to;
if you can strike down
the gardeners
who will tend to the garden
when the sun beats down
when crawlers feast on roots;
when you strike down the gardeners
who will watch over your tulip field
loose colors
twisting the ends
slapping the packet against tired wrist
i can feel
the end
grasping against air
pressed against my throat
inching forward
bloody nails held vacant
wasp fingernails to the hive
only one queen
she said
there was no heaven
i asked her what she would go after
she said to the mall
they say he reached out and grabbed it
took a bite
and put it back
Saint's Muse 