Stab Wounds and Oily Fingers

I met a man of whom it could be said was more pincushion than man. Everywhere he went he collected stab wounds in his back, like he was collecting candy trick-or-treating, from friend to boss to family and back again. This man was defined by pain. He tried to hide it, easingly wrenching a jacket…

Charcoal Thoughts

 I smear the charcoal around on the page and burrow it down into the white abyss Just like I do with thoughts of you. A black streak across a blinding expanse of white. These thoughts Like charcoal Start out like chunks of black soot on the end of my fingertips, And end up a gorgeous…

Feminism Rant.

Can we just talk for a second about why the word pussy is an acceptable derogatory term? Why is it okay for the very thing that culminates who I am as a woman to be used as an insult towards someone else. It’s not.

Wine With a Boy

I never thought I’d see you roll up like that All sleek and slippery, Nothing like the protection I had experienced from you before. Wafting a pizza and wine in my face with the promise of a blanket spread out under the stars, It was dark and I was unable to read you. “In a…

His breath pulsed steadily on her forehead, So that the loose hairs blew rhythmically against her face. That, with the blood pounding in his ears, And the hammering of his heart coinciding with hers, Was the best song he had ever written.

April 14 1912

Melancholy. Flirting with the waves of the sea , almost swimming and yet almost drowning. Once again, Relishing in the anticipation of the end. Relinquishing the desire to make noise despite the consequences. Life boats. Life jackets. Violins and tears, Significant amounts of racket. Light off some bright white rockets. Split, right down the middle.…