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Hello All,

Today I have reached a milestone of acquiring a 1000 followers. I have stumbled across many great people, aspiring writers, and have enjoyed this journey.

I also want to thank those who have purchased my books. Thank you for all the support.

– Braeden Michaels

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Sudden Denouement's avatarSudden Denouement Collective

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Anthology Cover clean

“I sit on the left-hand of the gods and have a special dispensation to decode the secret, universal rhythms, find patterns in the whispers which are inaudible to profane ears.”

Jasper Kerkau/I am a F*cking Writer!

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is a thoughtfully curated compendium of the best writing published online by the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective from its launch in August of 2016 through April 2018. It includes 138 pieces of cutting-edge poetry, prose and short fiction written by 29 diverse writers from England, Romania, Japan, India, Finland, the United States and Canada. Thirty-one of the 138 pieces were written exclusively for the Anthology. This volume captures the astonishing raw power of these individual and united poetic voices.

“One of the delights of this collection is the sheer diversity of voices, unconstrained, with…

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I am clear

I am measured

I am defined

I am used every day

I am a necessity

I am used to solve problems

I am beautiful

I am dramatic free

I am essential

I am needed

I am every where

I am value

I am not a color or a race

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Strolling down

Bleeding Havoc Lane

Counting the

shattered porch lights

Awakened by the

mountains of trash

Recognizing the last

names on the mail boxes

Falling aluminum siding

Mesmerized by the

paint chips

Boarded up windows

Awkward silence

Desolate skeletons

in the mourning closets

Tortured furniture

is howling at midnight

Roots below the ground

remain pessimistic

Only whiskey pours

from the ancient faucets

Slowly I pull up to the

street sign

Eyeing up the tape covering

the name

Tearing it off like it’s a sore

underneath

Burnt Memories displayed

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Eighteen is the magic number

Defines maturity and responsibility

Perhaps it’s just a digit

6570 days of being alive

But don’t know what you are living for

Answers and claims are unreachable

Eighteen is a number of legality

But not a number of wisdom

Talk to someone who has lived more days

Life isn’t about digits and numbers

It’s about the choices we make

Every choice from the 6570 day is critical

You just don’t know it yet ….

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I’m written on

Sometimes I’m wasted

I’m typed on

Sometimes I’m abused

I can be in different colors

Sometimes I’m crinkled

I’m different sizes

Sometimes I’m over used

I’m made into an airplane

Sometimes I wonder …

If I will ever disappear

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Oh Poet the emperor

Shall I dive into your

18th century plagiarized manuscript?

It’s not as hidden as you

believe as educated as you are

I can read you like the pamphlet

Yes pamphlet – the size of

your sweet vocabulary

Diluted words of nothingness

Playing with Drama

Because you are the Queen

Not the King of Denmark

Despite the riddle you keep

reciting your manhood and strength

Keep taking a step further

with your playbook

I will rip apart and expose you

for who you really are

Lonely just the like rest

Minutiae among the minds

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Spastic clutter

Opening up a can of debris

Mixed up predicaments

A compilation of distress

Walking into turmoil

Gazing at a eyesore

A mayhem of selfishness

Mishmash of ideals

Seeking light in the wreckage

Tripping on hindrances

Overlooking headaches

Disoriented from the gospel

Ignoring the theorems

Forever searching the self

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Exasperated point of view

Tearing and ripping me in half

Accepting my tired faults

Ruining what was too good to be true

Reality digging in my insides

Watching my mind crash

into a broken down train station

As the clock barely moves

I stare into the wrecking machine

Seeing a glimpse of my skewed

perception shine bright

in my dumb blank eyes

Realizing my mind needs to be

examined and reprogrammed

Refusing to stay on this damn street

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I’m a wounded prize,
Laced up in bitterness.
I’m a lethal injection,
Trapped in a empty bottle.
I’m a bullet from a war,
Only shot through my veins.
I’m a discarded black heart
Only seen in the shadows.
I’m the venom from the rattlesnake
Only to swallow with salt.
I’m a chill on my own spine
Only to stop from being numb.

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Yellow submarine taxis growl

Chauffeurs flipping the bird

Traffic jams six miles long

under a melodramatic sky

Hearts flutter and change rattles

Scent of Pizza and hot dogs

fill up the obscure potent air

Surrounding big city talkfest

Delighted with lipstick flirts

Walking by high dollar men

Staring at petty indifferences

Nonchalantly cursing

Engrossed with constant image

Consumed with the red lights

Unable to cherish or embrace

seconds of life on Broadway

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Blaring hardcore

Metal music rumbling

Guzzling down a fifth

of Jim Beam at

the snakeskin wheel

with her licking her

saturated lips in the

passenger seat

Scorching engine

Curbside flames

Gateway to the

magnificent underworld

Drenched in the

madness and her

lustrous eyes

Salivating on the

speed lane to hell

as lightning crashes

Aching for the bombshell’s

fingers on my

trembling knee

to release the

infernos tension

She’s worth the

impact and ashes

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I can’t sleep

without the scent of your pillow

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without you beside me

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without your warm embrace

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without a kiss good night

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without saying I love you

Toss and turn

****

Check out my new book!