Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Blade cuts through the dusk,
Tulips bow with fleeting grace,
Shadows stretch to meet the night—
Silent petals fall.
On one gloomy evening
Neighborhood stray-paws come to prey
Backyard roosters; yapping and flapping
Pillowcase feathers sprout in the color of snow grey

Got spooked suddenly; waking slumbered bind
Still blinded by freezing disbelief; an odd sight
It was, for the dreamer lost inside his own mind
Horrible animal noise should tunnel-guide to the light

Back to the cold struggling-bound world where
Deep sleep is certainly an obvious escape place
Though trickery peaceful; nothing could hurt there
Except diffuse our aura metaphysically beyond space

Between reality and fantasy, if I'm to choose
I shall go with the latter because I don't want to
Take a rifle, resume another cycle of violence noose
Knowing one day, I could forever retire to a wonderful fantasy too
Our office
Certifiable
Careful

Here
what I say,
Can’t be
Proven
My way
I’ve lived
The results
So I know
It’s true

It’s what
happened
before
we knew

Women’s
monthly cycle
started slowly
alining
at the same
time
of every
month

The Syncretism of
Ten women
at work
Emotional
crabbiness
Times
Ten

Don’t be a ****
Do so at
your own risk!
Don’t pawn
off work

Listening
is a must

Somebody
actually
put up a sign

“Tread lightly
Office
Women
on their
Monthly cycle
Follow
on your
Moped”

It was the
strangest
Thing
I’ve ever
experienced
seen
Chocolate
Flowed,
Free

Women’s.
Bathroom,
Sanctuary
The Place
To Be

Inspired song

I Am Women
By Helen Reddy
BLT Webster’s Word of the Day
Syncretism 10-30-24
Refers to the combination of different forms of belief or practice coming together

Footnote
I was one of the 10 women. Emotions would be hot for seven days. We couldn’t figure out why until one by one the staff admitted they were on their monthly cycle. But how the dates seem to change within a year time everybody in the office had their monthly cycle that same week
Hormone correction? I don’t know
If I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have believed it
You saved me and kept me, then denied me.

Spat on my grave while you whiled away, free from your guilt.

An egoistic, a gymnast of lies. Fireflies and your coffee-colored eyes.

My soft sobs echoed through the night as I was buried in the deepest quiet hollows of the earth, where no one could hold my hand and lift my body.

I can already taste the sweetness of the other side. God forbid me not to, but the only thing that replays in my head is the lips that made me religious. My beloved religion.

Seven minutes before my sapped breath, your face flashed a fond memory—a saccharine—yet draining facade of yours. Those minutes turned into long-showered hours; I pleaded with the grounds of the earth just to see those melancholic eyes that once captivated me.

If it’s meant to be, then it will be. Thereafter, the earth angered all the religions I once suffered—
you were my ill-fated haven.
I was just listening to this song and I wrote this piece according to what emotions I have felt while listening to it. Ethel Cain is known for her indie and gothic rock, she’s a really talented artist and her music is currently helping me sort out my pain and grief. :)

11/05/24

Song: Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain
 Nov 20 Thomas W Case
nivek
how strange for a man to be so fully imbibed with hate
all the way to the unleashing of indiscriminate slaughter
i read the poems
(perhaps not poems)
maybe, perhaps?

they are crying their hearts out
reaching

for that feeling
innate
and pristine

a howl for love

sadness

faith and joy

those tortured *******
their words trumpet,

"I am here!"

all too human
and i will not read you
anymore
this nascent melody
of us tortured souls.
Next page