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I’m a fabricator

A creator of illusions

Wishful imagination

that does not have a

shut off valve

In and out of the rush

Inside the blinking

castles in the air

I’m a architect of phrases

A vivid storyteller

Dreaming of what

does not exist

A innovator of scribble

Fantasy maker

submerged with words

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Psychobabble is drooling
Filth sliding off your tongue
To a world that doesn’t want you
Chaotic rambles spill
Flourishing idiotic sentences
To only a southern cult following
Despised and detested
The walking anti Christ
An asylum meant for your family
Raising children to scream
Not speaking with an ounce of intelligence
Your mother should have used a condom
So the world didn’t have to put up with
Your nonsense and illogical thoughts

Check out my books!

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I am used

to color a fire truck

I am used

to color a stop sign

I am used

to color a red light

I am used

to color flames

I am used

to color Santa’s Claus’s outfit

I am used

to color a red ribbon

I am used

to color lipstick

I love the red crayon

Check out my books!

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From the glistening waves

to the boundless shore

Strings of love dwell

in the enchanted violin

From the untamed daisies

to the serene marigolds

Appetites of wicked flames

burn in a pink stratosphere

From the beaming sunrise

to the caress of your hand

Admiration is a blazing star

above Cupids’ Dream Drive

Shadows or darkness

become a lost road of lust

Only worship and devotion

entwine on this long concrete

Check out my books!

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Strutting contradiction

spewing selfishness

Child like temper tantrums

dilute your balloon ego

Even the scarecrows

don’t want you

A strolling blood clot

aimless direction

A rambling anthrax

Mindless and foolish

Even the soulless

don’t want you

A marching eye sore

Belligerent and foul

A corrupted delinquent

Hop scotching bitch

Even the demons from hell

don’t want you

Check out my books!

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(1st Verse)
I used to see you on stage
playing your acoustic guitar
I sat there in the crowd
feeling your hands around my heart
I saw you sing from a distance
from your precious soul
Every time I think of you
It makes it harder to let go

Chorus:
It was love at first sight
Was all in your kiss
It was love at first touch
There isn’t anything I don’t miss
You must have been an angel
For God to take you so soon
You must have been a saint
For your heart to be wrapped
around the moon

(2nd Verse)
I used to see you on stage
Seeing the tears from your eyes
I sat there in the crowd
Wishing a chance to say goodbye
I saw you sing from a distance
with your tender lungs
Every time I think of you
I love the man who you have become

Bridge:
I can still see you
in our daughters eyes
I can still feel you
under the bluest sky
I can still see you
when I go to bed
I can still feel you
As I lay down my head

Chorus:
It was love at first sight
Was all in your kiss
It was love at first touch
There isn’t anything I don’t miss
You must have been an angel
For God to take you so soon
You must have been a saint
For your heart to be wrapped
around the moon

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Never do I rest

Some are addicted

Always being used

Some abuse me

Rarely I am shut off

Some break me

I am full of so much

Some ruin lives

I can be a problem

Some people die

My purpose grew

I’m often used

at the worst times

I have a price tag

Unlike a human

Please use me

appropriately

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I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.

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Requesting peace

Uneasy separation

Raising the white flag

Just wanting to be alone

Clearly misunderstood

No need for drama

Let me sulk from your daggers

and just leave me alone

For you couldn’t see me

You take no responsibility

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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…

View original post 342 more words

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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 ….