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Somewhere east along Highway 37
A neon sign flashes intermittently vacancy
The Scarecrow Hotel remains alone
Stained threadbare carpets muffle TVs
And tearful phone conversations
Sixteen parking spaces yet only four filled
Warm shower and a sagging bed for the night

The ancient bricks lure the demented and sick
Vultures eying through the windows
Black and blue clouds crying endlessly
Wooden floors feeling troubled feet
Surrounded by ravens and blackbirds
Five miles east of the bloodhound river

She threw her suitcase on the queen
Predictably it flew wide open
The latches never held right, just like her heart
Two changes of clothing to cover her bruises
He’ll never touch her again but
Wrinkled clothing and a wad of cash
Don’t heal scarred faces

The letter “E” is barely visible in the sign
Voices humming a overture in the cellar
Last names engraved on walls by spirits
Doorknobs hanging by three threaded bolts
Driveway gravel is black as night
Welcome mat covered in red ants

He stares into the chipped mirror
Five o’clock shadow daily dulls razor blades
Just like the rings that dull his once bright eyes
The phone bill shows her increasing texts
Every time he travels to pay for her wants
More hours, more money, more fancy things
Less of him with less of her, he looks away

Dark stories unfolding in the rooms
Sheets covered in lies and betrayal
Cigarette smoke stirring up shadows
Tiny cracks in every bathroom’s mirror
Brown mustard dripping from faucets
Stained tears found in the corners of closets

She hears voices not her own
Listens every day upon a rented bed
One weekend she opened her eyes
Bloody hands and a very dull knife beside her
Finally a quiet clean house
Ever since then she lives with a smile
Mama taught her little girl don’t take no shit

Storytellers, dreamers, and howlers visit
Intending to sleep but fall in the depths
Replaying memories of the past
Cynics and liars raise a toast at the bar
Tipping the bartender bullets instead of dollars
Quarrels served at the table tops

He loosens a tie used as a tourniquet
Money well spent on the tricks of a whore
Last Friday he played two gigs stacked
Brain damage found in riding a white horse
Picks up his guitar and hums a few chords
Remembers the eyes of a lover
It’s another night, another hotel, another road

A neon sign flashes vacancy nonstop
Full of headaches, screams, and lost souls
Built on a cemetery of the Crowe family
Generations of terror between 6am and midnight
Sleep is just a word inside these haunted walls
Stories never die…

Braeden – non italic

Tara – Italics

This was a fun collaboration! I enjoyed it. Check out her blog if you haven’t.

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Stumbling into a fuzzy

and sanitized brainstorm

Watching the fury

leave stains where the mime

inside placed his hands

on the four by four box

Chatter dissolves

Blood clots stricken

Nonstop convulsions

A falling stigma is spread

like dust on the tricks

of my broken down mind

Fears wallow

Doubt hangs like tree branches

in a distraught hurricane

Analytics in bold

Emotions shredded

Wiping away the dirt from

my cynical and distant eyes

Leaving the mime inside

cry like a new born baby

Constantly misunderstood

A misguided circus fumbling

through the fog

A part of me is the feather

of a soaring bird

Never falling to the ground

without direction

Grasping the words of the prayer

Sent to God from a letter

Please save the mime

Check out my books!

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I wallow in the paraphrases and the ick of December. Wintery trees remind me of childhood and what use to be. Today the misery and solitude linger in the brisk air. I no longer grasp and hold onto affection. I took a walk and could see my reflection in the mangled trees. Branches scattered like my frozen thoughts. I stand still as depression settles deeper. No one wants to stand from my perspective. I despise the winter and hollow chill. No one cares. I use to crave to feel. I stare into the paragraphs and emptiness flows. No one cares. I don’t ask why I am alive. I ask when will you take me out of my misery?

by on

I’ve offered you a ship and you offer me a canoe

I’ve offered you a dozen roses and you offer me a dandelion

Sadness is a trigger

I’ve offered you a plate of everything and you offer me a morsel

I’ve offered you a road and you offer me a unpaved narrow path

Sadness is a trigger

I’ve offered you a tree of gold and you offer me a stained branch

I’ve offered you a notebook and you offer me a page

Sadness is a trigger

I’ve offered you barrel of ink and you offer me a ballpoint pen

When I’m gone my written words will say it all

by on

I’m terrified

to inhale your naked skies

I’m terrified

to kiss your illuminating scars

I’m terrified

to wipe away your violent tears

I’m terrified

to capture your torn heart

I’m terrified

to feel your dirty rain

I’m terrified

to hold on to your numb hand

I’m terrified

to feel a love that I didn’t know existed

I’m terrified

to hear the symphony in your sea

I’m terrified

to walk alone on this broken road

I’m terrified

to stand at the turns in this landscape

*Dewy Place had requested this title.

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I’m alone and sleeping in the cavern

I’m alone and sleeping in the gloom

And never do I cry

I’m alone and sleeping in the dusk

I’m alone and sleeping in the morning

And never do I bleed

I’m alone and sleeping in the twilight

I’m alone and sleeping in my coffin

And never do I pray

I’m alone and sleeping in the screams

I’m alone and sleeping in the silence

And never do I laugh

I’m alone and sleeping in the scars

I’m alone and sleeping in the obscurity

And never do I change

by on

Stranded on euthanasia street

A number of casualties walk

on the chalk lines around the

thousands of the bloodless scarecrows

Weeds and black roses grow

in gardens of screeches

A morbid hawk hovers the emptiness

barking of a dog reverberates

Eyelids are glued to mailboxes

A mindless city stuck in the trenches

Watching television from the grave

Chuckling as coffins close shut

Numbness and laughter blend

Mothers cauterized by loneliness

Fathers gravitate to only lust

Avoiding love at all cost

Mice crawling from pillow cases

Skeletons playing poker Indian style

in front of the rusted closets

Using marrow as golden chips

Despair and poverty shook hands

Pull the exasperating plug

on any side of this hellacious town

Take a sip of cyanide before crossing

this sharp and dying town

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I’m disappointed in myself as usual

I’m disappointed to reach for something I can not feel

I’m disappointed with my voice of truth

I’m disappointed in my ignorant silence

I’m disappointed with my points of view

I’m disappointed with my deceptive mind

I’m disappointed in the fool I can’t see

I’m disappointed that I couldn’t feel the needles puncture my skin

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I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind

I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center

I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness

I sunk my teeth into the dejection

I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words

I swam in the black river under the oppression

I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts

I fell into the depths of silence

I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep

I felt the last breath deceive me

I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights

I carried a chain of misery

I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph

I refused to stare at the nemesis

I saw the signature and found it revolting

A transformation within shouted

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Woke up in the pitch black
Staring at the reality
Shackled with no hope
Barely crawling
Trying to move my tired body

Sounds of the sizzle
Shuffling of feet
Jameson walked down stairs
Scrambled eggs and bacon
glancing at my swollen eyes

“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
A phrase that swam in my mind
over and over as I scarfed down grub
No time for drops of tears
No time for sadness
“I can’t stay in these clothes.”

Jameson paced like a rat
Imprints in his rattled mind
Struck a lonely frozen nerve
Nervousness and sweat blend
“I will get you clothes.”

Forgotten details befuddled him
Inside of me snickered
Ignited a circle of thoughts
Finally seeing a shadow
Outsmart the predator

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The serpentine somnambulence of fire,
like a drop of a dragon, encapsulated in
pine kindling and smoking oak, the stone
fireplace watches her as she poems ink,
birthing galaxies on old parchment, and
as the flames grow, she sees sentences
dancing in the gold and orange, alight
muses nine of Apollo, burning just for her.

Under a catastrophic star he stares into the abyss of the flames. Forgotten love hibernates within the charcoal as he gazes at her lost wick. Castles drift in his mind as he wishes the blaze never died out. She stands in front of the tangerine edges seeing her soul be reignited.

There are bonds of ashes that settle like
the dust of an old book with intaglios of
her former lover in the flames, immolated,
she was a witch on a pyre for him, he was
gasoline poured onto her bonfire, and now
all that is left are dead nebulae and ghosts
of “I do.” She arises a phoenix, only to see
him, in the space between shadows, a ghost.

There are screams within the chandelier dreams. There are fires within the light, there is a glimpse of light in the flames. No matter where he turns, no matter where she rises, there will always be a breeze of ink. Hearts need to bleed, veins need to cry, and pages never fade. The gust of memories will live forevermore.

Dances with Tricksters – Italics

Braeden Michaels – Non Italics

It was a pleasure to collaborate with Allie. Please check out her blog!

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Inhaling a killer drug

Exhilaration tripped in a dumpster

Walking through glee in galoshes

Disgust flying like a bumble bee

Stuck in a repeating nightmare

Gloom stalks like a predator

A revolver full of hatred

Like a hammer slamming the nail

Reckless directions

A mind of inconsistencies

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Destroyed trust smeared on shingles

Ruins spread out over the dismantled carpet

Locked up gates surrounding decrepit doors

Components of ancient clocks in disgust

Splinters in necks of apathetic voices

Arms folding like a hand of cards

Negligence lingers in the crisp air

Carelessness hobbling on a narrow path

Monotony standing tall and shrewd

Incuriosity bounces like a dodgeball

Separation is coughed up like phlegm

Alienation is the divine appetite

Four mile road of still emptiness

Unfortunately many reside in a glance of reality

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She toyed with my emotions
She told me I was cute
She played with my mind
She crawled inside my head

And she spit me out

She craved what she didn’t get
She held the fairy dust
She was bold and controlling
She gripped onto the wicked fire

And she spit me out

She let go once she saw the steam
She used and abused me
She was manipulative and coy
She slithered too far in

And she spit me out

She swallowed too much
She took what she wanted
She was relentless and fierce
She was materialistic and vain

And she spit me out

She was a sensual liquid
She sprinkled lust over my head
She was a dripping eclipse
She opened up the obscene book

And she spit me out

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I don’t need the sore aggravation

I don’t need the circling hassles

And your love fades away

I don’t need the toxic backbite

I don’t need the rolling animosity

And your love crawls like a cock roach

I don’t need the invisible scars

I don’t need the controlling gestures

And your love screams murder

I don’t need the swallowing fears

I don’t need the pins from your heart

And your love smothers me

Check out my books!

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I miss my boyfriend
I miss his hands and lips
I miss his comfort
I miss his warmth

I miss everything I had
I don’t see a way out
All I see is dark and no hope
I miss my life so much

Huffing and puffing
A shadow of a rectangle
Carrying down a mattress
“You will need your rest.”

Tosses blankets on me
Moves the mattress toward me
“Shackles should reach”
I lay on the mattress in distress

He shuffles through boxes
As if he was browsing through
lost and faded memories
“You look like her”

Wiped off the dust of the frame
Handed me the photograph
A woman standing outside this house
“Who is this?”

No response
Words escaped him
Tired and Distraught
Something clicked

“Aren’t you Jameson?”
He turned his head at me
“Yes I am.”
“So you destroyed my parents marriage?”

Nobody told your father to gamble
Nobody told your mom to be a slut
Nobody told your father to throw away money
Nobody told your mom to be easy
Nobody told your father to borrow money
Nobody told your mom to stay married to a liar
Nobody told your father to stay out at all hours
Nobody told your mom to be in a fake marriage
Nobody told your father to stop paying me

Be careful what you say
Be careful what you accuse
Be careful what you imply
Be careful what you ask

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I was in my room shattered. I thought he loved me. I saw a vision of a life with a man who turned out to be a child. Not a boy but a child who ran away because he was terrified. He was scared of the word love. It became too real. He tarnished my soul. He took something away that I can’t put my finger on. I turned off the light and crawled underneath the covers. I couldn’t close my restless eyes. My world had crumbled. How can a man touch my skin the way he did and walk away? How can a man kiss these lips and walk away? It felt like I was on a roller coaster and I was no longer going up hill. It was all down hill and could feel the crashing of the silent wind echo. Although he may have thought he had broken me but as I said I’m shattered. It translates that I can pick up the pieces and put them back. No man will ever break me that I can’t get up.