K Paige Mar 9
these synthetic lights are too loud
the microphone keeps
threatening to take off my head

i don’t want to be a part of this cast anymore
the script is grim, defected
infecting my nights as i fixate on the plot,
with its steady flow of crisis

the director keeps demanding dramatic theatricals from me
we rehearsed this particular scene a few dozen times
i’m in an airport terminal
a woman bears to me grave news of a man
who has drowned himself
screeches erupt from the mouth of a child

end scene

now the final production has been released
i’m sitting in the audience
my life is happening on the screen
there are
                                       in my veins

i am the director of this film

roll the credits
but don’t give me credit for this

Mrs Charming Feb 15
Not every trigger is on a gun.

Sometimes it is an action movie with explosions and car chases. My eyes close just before the cars collide.

Sometimes it is an eggplant in the middle of the store. The soft, purple flesh, bruised from a seatbelt.

Sometimes it is feeding a fire and being hit in the face with smoke from an engine.

Sometimes it is a nature show. Watching deer walk silently through the woods, bears awakening from hibernation, trees falling with such force that they fracture like bones.

Sometimes it is walking around the hospital and stumbling upon the labor unit. Hearing the familiar howls of pain as babies are pulled from their mothers and she is pulled from the car.

Sometimes it is waiting in line at the DMV. Watching the clock. Waiting for my number to be called and knowing that this is deja vu.

Sometimes it is hearing sirens rush by while I'm shopping and wondering if the socks I've just picked up, are the same shade of blue as her face in the back of the ambulance.

The trigger is on the neck of the bottle that puts me to sleep, when the barrel reaches my lips.

It is time to pull the trigger and empty the bullets into my grief and sorrow. I will lay them to rest in the plot beside my wife. Watching them flourish with forget me nots.
Seema Nov 2017
Behind these walls is a miles walk
Behind this smile there is a silent talk
Behind me is an open fire
Burning my feelings burning my desire
Infront of me is a wide stagnant lake
That literally looks like a burnt cake
There is this tree that has no leaves
My eyes are open yet hard to believe
What is this place so dead without water?
Written on the rocks were "Place for Slaughter"
That explains why the lake looked dark and dry
This was the place full of blood and innocent cry
When and how this place got so abundant?
Should I stop myself cause I sound redundant?
Why is there dead silence here?
Does it mean my death is also near?
Few steps back I took to look
The wall that stood there terribly shook
And the way back was sealed off by hook
There is no going back I can see now
Something is wrong with this place, what and how?
There is no direction where to go now
A terrible smell is coming from the lake side
Strangely the lake is fuming, I think I should hide...

I hid myself in the bay of bushes at best
While I waited to see what happens next
The emerging fume, lights on flame
Burning the coal in the lake so lame
I hear a call out of a name
Like it sounded too familiar, it was my name!
Hush comes a voice in my ear
I nearly choked out of fear
Someone held me down to the ground
While the green shrubs surround
Am pushed to an unground tunnel
That is designed so much like a big funnel
I find myself in a small arena alley
And a man sitting with a shaft with his big belly
I am explained of the questions rising in my mind
The magicians wicked widow is cruel unkind
For she has ordered to slaughter everyone
Whoever talks back to claim their son
The wicked widow so now an evil witch
Takes fresh mens blood so to enrich
The legend makes sense do foretold
Now, what I dreampt here unfolds...

The fancy dark woman with long hair
Braided with jewelry looking so fair
I thought she was a fairy from wonderland
But the truth, a wicked witch of barren land
In my dream, I kill her somehow
But I can't recall anything as of now
The legit people already know my skills
They seek for protection from any more kills
Now I have to recall how I executed this bitch
So this land would be free from such an evil witch
In my hair I have a sacret sharp fin of a fish
Given to me by an old sage as a wish
Recalling his spoken words as it goes:
      "...here my child is a weapon
         use this to destroy the happen
         stab this in the heart at noon
         when the sky is clear and you see the moon
         the magicians widow died along with him
         but the evil magic took over her body at dim
         do not fear, for you will win
         just stab in the heart with this fin..."

Out from the ground, walking towards her nest
She was hanging like a bat on the pillars to rest
Very much aware of my presence, I could tell
A siren like scream in my ears was her yell
I needed to close up on her to do my deed
She out numbered me, and grabbed me like a weed
I could sense my fear crawling from behind
There was no mercy or a gesture of any kind
Before she could make her move on me
In goes the fin in one spin
In agony she cried with pain
Her body wrapping up in black smokes
While making the air around me choke
I ran towards the lake where I first stood
The wall that was sealed now all good
I made my way out through the wood
And started a miles walk behind the wall
A mythical journey ended with the evil fall
The magicians widow now I recall...

Fictional write.
Fairytale poetry.
CastorPolydeuces Aug 2017
a drum beat thrums beneath my skin, steady,
tense and straining.
a widow dances deep within screaming of
death and rot.
with rhythmic steps and flashes of black
blood thickens...
expiration date determined, i eagerly await
my turn.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
That’s all I have, said Muriel,
The window, the sunlight, the

View of the city, the smell of
The room, the hardness of the

Chair on which I’m sitting,
Jack’s last words before he

Croaked, his final letters to
Her, hidden in a box beneath

His shoes and suits, and the
Photographs of us on our

Honeymoon where the smiles
Were and the laughter which

Didn’t last, and his record
Collection which I hated and

Will probably sell or destroy
Or give away to any sucker

Who’ll buy. This is all that’s
Left: the memories of summers,

The nights of love, the lies,
The cheating, the making up,

The echoes from walls of his
Reading aloud from the books

He wrote, the unforgettable
Time his daughter turned up

Whom he didn’t know he had
And didn’t want and who left

And drowned herself by jumping
From the bridge like Berryman

Did the same year and almost
The same place and I remember

Jack’s look of disbelief when
He heard the news, and this is

All I have: the scene and the
Sunlight and the moonlight

And stars and last time we
Made love on the bed in this

Room and sighs and moans
And the long cold afternoons.
Amanda Shelton Jun 2017
She’s agile and
seeking comfort,
over and over.

Like a violin she plays
with her web.

Black Widow
laying in her web,
weaving and sewing,
seeking her lover.

Black widow
see her weaving,
see her sewing,
waiting for her lover,
agile and seeking comfort.

Black widow
laying in her web,
binding and binding
so fast she’s winding.

Black widow
living in my window.

**© By Amanda D Shelton
You can find my drawing of the black widow here http://froggyartdesigns.deviantart.com/art/Black-Widow-Clip-Art-686281840
Allyssa Buenafe Jun 2017
I saw a funeral today.
Passing cars,
Flashers flashing,
The crying of passengers,
Pulled over cars in the small county of dwindling residents born here.
I wonder,
Oh I wonder,
Does the widow cry at night?
Does the husband mourn?
When did they pass?
The train of cars became too long,
A loved member of that family.
Did they say goodbye?
Can I say goodbye?
Kissing the window to send my love to your deceased,
I pray your heart isn't so heavy and your knees aren't too weak.
I hope your love for them was strong,
I hope their smile was amazing,
For I do not know how to grieve so when I say,
"It's going to be okay,"
I mean it.
I do not know how to grieve.
I speak of a heart wrenching pain so strong,
Numbness has washed over me.
My empathy,
My love,
Goes to you.
Entrust in it, cherish it, grow from it.
My condolences.
I'm sorry for your loss.
Eleasha Forster Jun 2017
The evening dragged on like the burning of a candlewick. My mind drew a blank page as I tried to remember what I was doing. The house felt bigger that night. I longed for him to come home complaining about the smallest things that  I took for granted whilst I poured brandy into his glass and lit the fire to heat his cold hands from the blasting winter. Flick- light of the dying bulb illuminated the drawing room projecting shadows of inanimate objects onto the walls of peeling paper. An uncanny sensation churned at my gut. Trundling down the narrow corridors, I reached the kitchen, catching the eye of a half empty rouge drowning in its own sorrows. I took a sip, admiring the gleaming cabinet holding his armory, clenching to the wall. I pulled out good ol’ smith and Wesson, inspecting its little impurities. I noticed a chip in the receiver and a gash in the barrel but surely this would not hinder its performance. My mind filled with dark thoughts the longer I held the revolver, so I placed it back in the cabinet locking the door. My hands shook from the exhilarating fear that swept over my body as I raced to put the key into the drawer on the other side of the kitchen, in order to smother the malicious feelings that had seeped into my mind. Sip. The tasteless wine slipped through my lips and made its course around my hollow body. No matter how much I drank, it would never fill the black void that his love once called home.
As I held the dwindling glass, I looked around the empty shell of a room. It caught my eye, the raven sat upon my window sill, his eyes dark as night. I looked down at the rouge as if it was never ending like the river of amnesia pouring down my throat but no matter how much I consumed, the raven always seemed to be lurking among the shadows like a renegade. How did he know of my where abouts? He disappeared before I even left the woods.
Eleasha Forster May 2017
It was time to turn back and face reality. He was dead and was never coming back. I was never to see my reflection through his golden brown eyes or feel his warm tenderly kiss still softly pressed against my forehead. This truth was hard to swallow and even harder to believe. Never again would I be in his warm arms protected from the harsh world surrounding us. I would give anything to only just take a short glimpse back at the paradise we once shared for I was the happiest I had ever been, with him by my side. He was my home. My safe place; my haven.
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