Tag Archives: fiction

Emptiness

The company given just serves as a shell,
And empty nest to calm and quell.

It only leaves the left feeling more unwell,
And makes the right feel wrong as hell.

It stings the skin in a cruel way,
Until the blood can no longer be kept at bay.

It burns the eyes with such strong rays,
Making them water and hurt all day.

This hard shell serves as a home,
Comforting all that feel alone.

Only when the naive enter do they hear the ghastly moans,
And the creaky floorboards that grimace and groan.

This home will only haunt,
Best leave before you are caught.

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At the Onset of 2 AM

What do I do when I’m not with you?

Sitting in the empty space of time and history,
The cracks in between the cogwheels creaking  with loneliness,
Moaning gears of the clocks enough to tear a soul apart,
With crooked fingers extending from fragmented hands,
Aligning with the right numbers at the wrong time,
Wrong day, cocking its head at the blank slate eyes,
Embedded in my silent head, its tick tock fills the gaps
Between one consciousness and the next,
Anxious heartbeats tick tock with the rest, an infallible rhythm

Palms open, narrow fingertips reaching for the next number
On the scale that measures my existence in quantities,
My moods in the insignificant tick marks between the finite infinities
Waking my dead mind from its shallow slumber–

Reluctantly conscious until it remembers it died to live,
Enslaved itself to time in return for a minute of freedom to roam,
As minute as it may have been, it was enough to not think of “home”,
Cradled in between your immobile hands, peace was all you could give,

And it was all I could ask for,
But it wasn’t enough after all, wasn’t permanent–
Such temporaries played with my sanity, distorted my sentiments,
Your hands moved away, couldn’t give more,
And I fell apart slowly, rusting and failing with time,
It wasn’t your fault, nothing you could do,
It’s just that

Time gets to me when I’m not with you.

Withering

Strong walls regardless of strength can be torn down brick by brick picked apart until that strong wall falls to the ground Red core and burning ferocity simmer down last flames smothered out Stronger elements wearing it down until its physical strength mental fervor die out extinguished without a sound None can hear its struggle as it crumbles to the ground stomped on battered beaten until it is ground like a limp carcass heaving its last breaths left out of the sun never to be found Strong walls with thick tears can rebuild themselves takes time Time it does not have in the breaths between one night and the next when the darkness takes over Time and it can no longer breathe It will only have night when rough brick by rough brick its hardened skin disintegrates leaving nothing but softened sand those pieces of itself that slip through the crevices of our minds grains of its essence sliding in and out of our consciousness unable to be grasped for more than

one single breath.

Prompted Ramble #5

He saw angels in the night. He didn’t want to. But they wouldn’t go away. Devilish angels. He only had hints of what they wanted from him; he caught certain words in their teasing whispers. They stood out among their indecipherable mutters.

Their commitment to haunting him was almost religious. He inhaled more of his special air into his lungs, veins, brain… and wished them away. Just as he did though, more appeared.

Such playfulness in their eyes, eyelashes, fluttering as did their wings, their pupils veiled by false intentions, bodies dipped in the translucent honey of artifice. Lying, an art. Angels, the masters. Preaching to his fears, ridding him of desires. What is left of him, a shell.


The “Prompted Ramble” posts: 5-10 minute freewrites (with approximately 5 minutes of minor editing) prompted by the first sentence, in bold. (They force me to write something fun besides poetry more often.)

Prompted Ramble #3.1

“I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way,” she said, then pulled the trigger. Her lips curling up into a small smirk when the guard’s body went slack, slumping over his buddy, Rene put her black leather gloves back on and picked up the heavy metal briefcase all the while keeping the gun pointed at the head of agent’s friend. Tucking her short jet black hair behind her ears, she walked backwards towards the door of the lab keeping her gun locked on the wide-eyed scientist but was interrupted by a large body. She expected this. She jabbed his nether regions mercilessly with her elbow before he had a chance to say or do anything and turned swiftly. Hardly giving him a glance, she lodged a bullet between his eyes. More men. She darted out of the dark building as shots were fired, all aimed, badly she might add, towards her. Her eyes were radiant with excitement; she loved a good chase.


The “Prompted Ramble” posts: 5-10 minute freewrites (with approximately 5 minutes of minor editing) prompted by the first sentence, in bold. (They force me to write something fun besides poetry more often.)

Prompted Ramble #3

“I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way,” she said, then pulled the trigger. She missed. In her drunken state, it was clear that she wouldn’t listen to reason nor, luckily, aim correctly. Taking advantage of this, Matt, hands raised, inched towards the door of his bedroom. He sneaked a glance to the left of Jane, now bawling hysterically. The redhead girl, whose name he didn’t remember, was still as unconscious and beautiful as ever on the bed, looking peaceful in her slumber, somehow oblivious to the gunshot. Her eyelids twitched subtly, the only sign of life she showed since the last night. She was still wearing his shirt, it’s buttons undone revealing her young flesh. He turned away, reprimanding himself, “Now is not the time to think about that.” Not wanting to say any more to the sobbing Jane, nor thinking to save the girl, he slipped through the crack of the doorway, wiped the sweat from his thick brow and broke out into a sprint. Despite his typical nonchalant, tough guy demeanor, he was just a big coward on the inside, running from problems, running from commitment, running from his past, forever running, never facing anything unless he had to. He would have hated himself, but he ran from that sort of thing too. It was more convenient to not think about it. As he sprinted, he thought happily to himself, “It’s a good thing my dad put me in track and cross country.


The “Prompted Ramble” posts: 5-10 minute freewrites (with approximately 5 minutes of minor editing) prompted by the first sentence, in bold. (They force me to write something fun besides poetry more often.)

Prompted Ramble #2

Behind the chaos, around the piles of dead bodies, and below the gunfire, he snuck quietly across the room. Nimble and well-camouflaged, Cain got himself out of the inconspicuously located execution building, and into the bright daylight. With bags under his eyes and a worn mentality, he shoved past the daytime crowds, to the great irritation of the citizens, but their shouts meant little to him. If he knew what really went on in that large corporation, he would have never taken the position, no matter how much his family back home needed the money. He felt sick to his stomach, but unable to get rid of the images from the past two nights in his mind. Was it really just two nights? He felt like he was in that hellhole for an eternity. Even though he would be risking his life by breaching his three-year contract, he didn’t care because anything was better than going back. Stupid. Under pressure from the top dogs of the place, hands shaking, he had signed without thinking, figuring that being an “enforcer” was a simple job. Little did he know, he’d have to kill more innocent people for the wretched corporation than wars ever had. He knew that he should tell someone, do something about this, but what could he do? He was just one person. He wouldn’t make a difference. And that is the downfall of the human race. He knew, but he couldn’t make himself come around to doing anything about it. Ignorance is bliss.


The “Prompted Ramble” posts: 5-10 minute freewrites (with approximately 5 minutes of minor editing) prompted by the first sentence, in bold. (They force me to write something fun besides poetry more often.)