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Seconds passing
Minutes standing still
Speechless under the noise
Pitter patter of footsteps

A December day etched
Thirst and hunger clench
Six inches of snow
Slightly above ten degrees

Waiting for him to punish me
For something I don’t know
Trying to shape the pupils
Never thought I’d be in shackles

Darker and darker
Colder and colder
Starving and thirsty
What harm did I do to him

Constantly wondering
Wondering if I will wake up
Will I see tomorrow
Will I see the morning light

No sense of time
Will I see my boyfriend
Will I see my father
Will I ever see anyone

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Lonely park benches

Seeking warmth and comfort

Posted in a local newspaper

Ice Cream shops fizzle

Wanted signs hung

“Lover of 101 flavors”

Acoustic guitars scream at

5am pleading for a

dreamy love song or lullaby

on Leaping Hearts Avenue

of Northern France

Moonlights reflect on the

crying and moaning ocean

“I’m just full of water but

empty on the inside”

Without a vein blood can’t

rush to the aching heart

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Shivering thru the animosity
Like a dungeon with a stench
A fourteen inch rustic door
No remorse or guilt resides
Disappeared in the thick of the night
Tip toeing in the burning fog
Covering her tiny mouth
Eyes wide as tears flood in fear
Disturbed by her resentment
A creeping shadow stands callous

Locking her in the musky trunk
Mystic drive to Blackout Hill
A lost and unknown address
Between crumbled mountains
Surrounded by jagged and lonely trees
A splash of maroon stains
As she attempts to claw away
Carried like a new born baby
in a pitch black bag
Throwing her down like a sack

Gazing up at the scene
Fumbling thru the grudge
Licking a sense of familiarity
Slightly a recognizable face
Face peeks out of the hole
Replaying the anxiety
Cold sweat drips on her frigid skin
Confused in a cellar
Trapped in a vault
Laying on the frozen bedrock

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I once knew serenity as I nibbled on your earlobe. I once knew the sounds of waterfalls as you inhaled my existence. I once stood behind the shadows of affection as you stumbled in silence. I once saw the tormented mist in your gut wrenching eyes. I once fell madly in love with your naval and collarbone. I once knew the honey oozing off your tongue. I once knew the lilacs and daises shining under our secret garden. I once knew the meaning of love when I saw you blush. I once cared for your everlasting lightning soul. I once saw you seeking truth in the gravel. I once fell in love with your fireworks. All I can see is your tormented mist in the dark where we use to be close.

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A pile of ancient bricks

stack up against the closet door

A lemon yellow sun hasn’t

heard the shrieks behind

the desolate window

Vanishing clowns snicker

in the obscure corner

Fears subside and twinkle

In the witching hour

the scarecrow yells from

the depths of childhood memories

A ministry of skeptics

preach under the queen size bed

Reciting a sacred testament

of abuse and lacerations

Sobbing whispers live behind

the wretched closet door

Check out my books!

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If I could run away

I’d join a flying circus

Chat with the lions

Chant with the crowd

Joke with the clowns

Dance with the acrobats

Crawl with the trapeze artists

Hide with the magician

Wrestle with the roar of the tiger

Walk with the Bear

Fall in love with the sideshow

Sit between the caramel apples

and the cotton candy

If I could run away

It wouldn’t solve any of my problems

Check out my books!

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The fables between us
Satirical metaphors prance
The ironies bleed pretty white lies
Sarcasm bursts like ejaculation
Covered in Satan’s thick liquid
Storybook pages stick together

The fables between us
Sardonic recitals
Recited by jesters and
Ponies dance in time while
His portal opens to swallow us all

Sadistic hymns
Written by gargoyles and
Unicorns prance in the clocks while
Her throat opens to consume the tale

Sadistic hymns
Hummed at Sunday Mass
Panic the court and
Constable is lighted aflame

Tarnished fairy tales
Scripted by euphoric lovers
Dripping sweat lingers in the air
Scent of religious perfume
Lurks between the satin sheets

Tarnished fairy tales
Playwrights
Tragedians
Star-crossed nothing
But sky
Moonlight paints you
Angel white and me
The daemon

Stonewashed dogma
Doctrines drenched in your spit
Undressed teachings
Relentlessly misinterpreted
Forgotten verses
Lyrics shredded
Constantly concaved
Staring into the phantasm
Sucked in by your gospel

Stonewashed dogma
Canon loaded
Peace be with you…

Kindra – Italics

Check out her blog if you haven’t! It’s always fun to collaborate with Kindra!

Braeden – Non Italics

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I see paradise in your

endearing photograph

Can’t stop looking at you

I see utopia on your

alluring lipstick

Can’t stop looking at you

I see the garden of Eden

in your mystical eyes

Can’t stop looking at you

I see milk and honey

from head to toe

Can’t stop looking at you

I see perfection and

and everlasting desire for you

Never will I stop

looking at you

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Sweet brown sugar
Habenero pepper on her lips
Invigorating serene eyes
Dashing wild smile
Intellectual stimulating
Culturally educated
Admiring her heritage
Embracing her history
to build a brilliant future
Desiring your seductive mind
Appreciating the center
Itching to just be beside you
Absorbing your presence
Thoughts of you are magical

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Gasping for grasping

At the end of the line

Spinning circles

At the end of the rope

Hearing not listening

At the end of the illusion

Unadaptable and difficult

At the end of the mirage

Impenetrable and brick

At the end of the delusion

Sucked in a vicious cycle

At the end of the fabrications

Never ending spiral

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I’m caught between syndromes and prescriptions. I’m slipping in the separation of loneliness and sadness. I have fallen in the hands of broken angels and laughing demons. I can feel the down pouring melancholy fill up the emptiness. I sulk in the fields of depression beside wishes and painted dreams. I’m sitting in the middle of insomnia and awakened tear drops. I watched the clown die on the inside. I stood on the outside of the circus and saw the crowd. I will always be on the outside looking in. I’m surrounded by beliefs and stuck in oppression. I’ve dug a grave in my creativity. I wear sensitivity on my sleeve. I can’t remove if I tried. I want a blanket of love that’s never been made. I seek a yearn that doesn’t exist. You will feel the craving when I’m gone. You will be on the inside finally looking in. The puzzle will be complete. I don’t belong on this earth. I want to lay beside Dylan Thomas and Allen Ginsberg. Read between the lines.

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Constantly disoriented

frozen whispers speak to me

A deep hunger

to be understood

An appetite

to be stirred by intimacy

No one cares

No one shows it

Efforts are fallen between

the cracks

No one hears me

No one listens

Distorted perception wakens

This is my canvas

Only a writer, a poet,

will gravitate to my words

To everyone else

I am not here

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No verses can disguise

the barbwire truth

Furious on the inside

Depression settles like dust

A intact plan merges

Ignoring my needs

Methodical and analytical

Reread the chorus

Every day was an opportunity

you threw away to show me

Nothing will prepare you

for what I’m about to do….

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Staring into the

desolate snow globe

watching my brittle

tears howl from the chair

Craving novacane for

my anorexic heart

Gravitating to the infection

that is soaking to

my sensitive past

Refusing to retrace

my footsteps of

Chestnut street

Tangled ghosts weave

through out my

strewed mind

Only to see a glimpse

of a debilitating disease

Concentrating on the

disappearing inner tyke

Becoming a nomad within

Placing my hands in my

ragged and faded jeans

trying to capture the light

of playing hopscotch

No matter how many times

I seek the clarity and purity

of my jagged youth

Chestnut Street is just a sign

on a ten foot pole

*Laurel has asked me to use this street name for the Challenge.

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She has eyes like the sunrise

and deep scabs like diamonds

She has darkness in her clouds

and she could see the light

She has everlasting dreams

and tenderness in her veins

She has discolored nightmares

and the blood drips from her wounds

She has beauty in her mind

and fears up on a shelf

She has loyalty in a grip

and dedication on her sleeve

She has a glass world of love

and sensitivity woven in her skin

She has purity in her voice

and gentleness in her spirit