"quivered" poems
she was leaving
and got the gumption
to see me before she did
so we went to dinner
she sat, crumpled
at the edge of the booth
playing with her silverware
hands sweating
our knees barely touching
underneath the table
they shook like the day we met
they shook like floodgates
when the clouds get upset
her hair was drawn back
into an apology
and she didn't answer
when the waiter asked for drinks
she pans, tilts
looking for the restroom
but doesn't get up
covers her mouth
to hide her furled chin
i cut her a piece of bread
not sparingly
i didn't want to ruin the symbolism
of cutting a gangrenous thing
from ones self
she half wept out "tell me a joke"
i thought to say "look at us."
that's it. that's the joke.
the premise & the punch line
sharing some silence
here in this ominous moment
so thick with goodbye
you could touch it
i said "when they asked what the name was for the wait, i should've said "awkward, party of 2"
but that's not the joke
"knock knock"
she whispered "who's there?"
i sat for a moment and said
"so we've come full circle.. we're even in the same seats, from all those months ago"
her lips quivered
and she hid her mouth
"i just wanted to hear a joke"
she said
i came back with
"if i fell for you in a quiet restaurant & no one was around to hear it, does the laughter of children i drempt we'd have make a sound?"
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Lovely mornings, evenings, nights our hearts took flight
Laughing ceased as sighs increased.
Wafts of sensual sweet smells rose.
Bodies, curved in writhing poses glowed.
Cares lost in arousing touch, lingering fingers longed for
Secrets, shared in sacred sighs and wanton lies.
Arching union quivered and quaked.
I whispered then and will again
Stilettos are not made for walking,
Their soul purpose, freeing our rising desires,
Feeding rapturous tinglings of sensual ecstasy.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
As the violet of day
draws to a close...
Witnessed the dwindling
vermillion sun,
being swallowed
by the horizon.
Ever so slowly,
seconds stretched...
This moment here...
Captured...
and
froze.
Brushing off
the indigos
and
blues.
of the past,
Whilst I shed these
scarlet tears.
Burdened with
unfounded speculation
and fears.
Gifted the
lease of bravery
but I know...
it wouldn't last.
A final skirmish
between
night and light.
My crimson wings
spread to greet the.
green evening air.
Feather and wind.
spoke to each other;
quivered as if
the same story
they shared.
A conversation
that ended quickly before
both took
flight.
To the
highest heavens,
leaving a
trail of leaves
from days of
yellow...
Flying past the
blushing orange cheeks
of
sleeping clouds.
Evading the beckoning
of
night's curtains
and
shrouds.
Into the sun,
I would go.
Beyond world's end,
I would follow...
To find you
where the universe
would run its course.
I'd gladly soar through
spectrum's grain,
Through
unfamiliar realms
and
warped new planes.
Why?
Because
blood red
rubies
pump
through mine
and
garnets
flow
through yours...
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
287
A Clock stopped—
Not the Mantel’s—
Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing—
That just now dangled still—
An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched, with pain—
Then quivered out of Decimals—
Into Degreeless Noon—
It will not stir for Doctors—
This Pendulum of snow—
This Shopman importunes it—
While cool—concernless No—
Nods from the Gilded pointers—
Nods from the Seconds slim—
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life—
And Him—
8.1k
driven by a ghost
possessing my body
I lived with a mind
a stranger with no identity
a thatched soul, fake
- no authenticity
quivered in fear
of people in my vicinity
may they never discover
the imposter - my entity.
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 8:57 PM UTC
I quivered in the arena
As thousands of people screamed at me
All because I wanted to touch the *****
I guess I play a different football
Those Hartford wailers weren't there
When I was on the ice
Trying to play goalie to the problematic pucks
All I had was my blocker
And all I could do was deflect
Yet those same people
Try to convict me in the tennis court of public opinion
Just because I wanted to make my own racket for a change
Is that really my fault?
Why should I listen to these people
When zero and love have the same meaning?
Am I beholden to those
That wanted me to kneel in the endzone?
They're the people who separated me from myself
Now that I'm running back
They're claiming they were my safety
But there was never a decent referee
Only people that wanted to see me in stripes
But here's the kicker
I'd forgive them all their past interference
If they'd just stop challenging my plays now
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
Driving down the watchful lane
My car choked, so I stopped at a scene
A false image or a dying shadow
Sitting by the window, a surreal widow
Smiling from the mirrors reflection
An awkward feint delusional reaction
Upon the quivered candle flames
Flickers her dark lustful eyes in claims
Maybe it's an illusion or a trick of my mind
As my body has fallen, weak by this find
This place seems, full of buried secrets
Along the sound of wild crickets
The horror adventure plays within my sight
Ghosts hovering everywhere in white
I closed my eyes to silence my mind
To weave off the horrific sight of all kind
But something grabbed my leg from behind
My voice echoed to beg and I began to unwind
Yet another mystery buried underground
My car engine raced all of a sudden,
I shook off the scenery, and turned around...
©sim
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 6:48 AM UTC
I still remember that night. I remember how I felt before it happened more vividly than how I felt after. I think I remember it so well because that was the last time I ever felt whole.
My shorts were short
my ******* were wet
my sweet little cherry had yet to be popped.
Your intentions filled the room as I admired the spit drool on the side of your lips. The uneasy smirk on your face. You wanted a lot more than to "just get laid." I was far too young to even begin to understand the parts of my body you knew not to touch.
As you kissed me down my neck and your manhood grew harder, my spine quivered and my fear shook. My mother always told me to follow my gut and when I did you grabbed me and you told me not to listen to it. You told me to ignore what I didn't want for the sake of your temporary pleasure. You disregarded my comfort and put your **** ahead of my feelings.
You yanked my legs open and your ripped me into two pieces, and till this day I have yet to find the other half you stolen from me, and I swear I almost see it everyday when I stand ahead of myself naked infront of my mirror but I can never stare at myself long enough to grab me in and make myself whole again.
Do you see what you have done to me? Was each stroke of stolen pleasure worth every jump I make when the man I love touches me with permission? Was your everlasting ****** sounds of moans and sighs escaping from your lips, echoing in my stomach and spilling out in my tears worth me cutting myself open every night since?
I guess it was because at least I'm giving myself permission opening myself up. At least the pain has consent. At least the blade dragging across my skin silenced the sound of your pleasure inside of me. At least the blood from my wrist dripping onto the bathroom floor isn't mixed with your ***
At least I have the choice to put just a little more pressure in and I wont have to be reminded of you anymore.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
To: Sarah Joyce Crimson 8th July 1943
A man in a gray suit has captured my heart, mother
Along with the tie, of course
Surrounding plants would've died
At his gaze and grace
Armored charm and wide toothed smile
His last name could've might as well been poise
I don't know what it is about him, mother
But his gentle crinkled eyes certainly isn't
His voice is as flattering as the lullaby you once sang
The tone itself symbolizes warmth and stability
Undiscovered treasure in the midst of all volumes
It is home I feel closest to when I catch a glimpse of it in my ear
I don't know whether to feel astonished or quivered
By all means, that'd be deemed as eerie
But you once said when a man one day turned my cheeks bright pink
It sure could only mean one thing
It is unreliably evident not to notice me blush
It is even more apparent not to notice his blunt stare
Sending chilly shivers down my spinal cords
Activating fondness I'd never in a million years imagine I'd sense
If only you were here to see for yourself
How proud I'd make you, indeed
You said one day I'll be able to marry, mother
Well, this day isn't as far planned as it once seemed
From: Christine Louise Crimson
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
I still remember that night. I remember how I felt before it happened more vividly than how I felt after. I think I remember it so well because that was the last time I ever felt whole.
Your intentions filled the room as I watched the drool on the side of your lips. The uneasy smirk on your face. You wanted a lot more than to "just get laid." I was far too young to even begin to understand the parts of my body you knew not to touch.
As you kissed me down my neck, my spine quivered and my fear shook. My mother always told me to follow my gut and when I did you grabbed me and you told me not to listen to it. You told me to ignore what I didn't want for the sake of your temporary pleasure. You disregarded my comfort and put your **** ahead of my feelings.
You yanked my legs open and your ripped me into two pieces, and till this day I have yet to find the other half you stolen from me, and I swear I almost see it everyday when I stand ahead of myself naked infront of my mirror but I can never stare at myself long enough to grab me in and make myself whole again.
Do you see what you have done to me? Was that temporary pleasure from my little 13 year old body worth the pain I face today? Was that stolen pleasure worth every jump I make when the man I love touches me with permission? Was your everlasting ****** sounds of moans and sighs escaping from your lips, echoing in my stomach and spilling out in my tears worth me cutting myself open every night since?
I guess it was because at least I'm giving myself permission opening myself up. At least the pain has conscient. At least the blade dragging across my skin silenced the sound of your pleasure inside of me. At least the blood from my wrist dripping onto the bathroom floor isn't mixed with this filth.
At least I have the choice to put just a little more pressure in and I wont have to be reminded of you anymore.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed
‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!
His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'
And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath
With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing
Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
going outside nowadays is just a game of
who can hold their breath the longest and of
looking for reasons to pass the time in your
own backyard but the gardens i see are only for
the literary muses haunting writers into submission
and for digging up holes with plastic shovels and
for wishing that i could pick up the daisies
and place them in your hair
i was in the middle of drawing a circle when
my arm quivered and now the line shoots
way past the paper and it's currently
undulating over my desk and zooming past
a caterpillar that's contemplating whether the
process of becoming beautiful would actually
make him beautiful when he already knows
that he is beautiful
i hope the god i pray to forgives me for
making all the lines i write be about you
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 1:20 PM UTC
1593
There came a Wind like a Bugle—
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the Windows and the Doors
As from an Emerald Ghost—
The Doom’s electric Moccasin
That very instant passed—
On a strange Mob of panting Trees
And Fences fled away
And Rivers where the Houses ran
Those looked that lived—that Day—
The Bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings told—
How much can come
And much can go,
And yet abide the World!
2.9k
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today.
quiver of constant smiles
for well he could,
yet little did he ken
the nature of the present
because
I read the smiles as the
tween the spaces,
in between the words of
anguish that never goes away
how can this be,
how to make sense of this
well I am a father too,
of words and sobs
and ownership of sins
between sons and fathers,
who inhabit
the unfilled spaces within,
the drawers with their name
on masking tape attached
Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Show me a man-father
whose lips
have not quiet quivered
when hearing those words sung
we ease the grip of
carrying them on our shoulders
when they are five at the
Macy's day parade,
running alongside their first
solo bicycle ride
we ease the grip of
the vise of
not seeing them for years,
or never again,
cause they hold you guilty,
responsible for their confusion
have too, ease the grip,
cause we got more than one
singular responsibility
so we dad draw,
a smile from the quiver,
that like those of the elves,
replenished magically,
strap it on wide,
mile high and move on
oh you teenage children, you babies,
with your endless angst and bravado
of drunken scar talk,
first love lost
and the hard course
of being sixteen
put down your tiresome blunt pens
that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore,
read of the self destruction
of love pains thirty years in the making
and fifty in the undoing
write of ancient inescapable feelings
decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the
moment quick searing of
every life breath you take
and it's Sunday nite
and the work week hell begins
but it is no compare to the other,
but **** you can't understand
so chant these words,
reflect on them well,
for soon while you dream sleep,
in clean, dry sheets and safe bed
a man will come for a peep,
to make the checkmark
on the all's well list
so chant these words,
a sad violin melody,
the single sole he ever hears,
*Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
I'm pretty sure
Eyes glaring
At the surface of my soul
Isn't supposed to feel
Any less like a stabbing to the heart.
But it does.
You have cupped
My burdens
In both of your hands
And sprinkled them over
The driest corners of my mind,
Watered them,
And let them grow
Slowly
Into something lovely.
I'm pretty sure
That every hiccup of an
'I miss you'
Isn't supposed to
Cause my blood
To blush warm.
But it does.
You toy with words
In the best way
Making sure each syllable
Is coated in
Silky persuasion
And I try,
Believe me, I do,
To let them sink
Into this heart,
You've called beautiful
Far too many times.
I'm pretty sure
Your lips have quivered
And tired of
Grinning encouragements
And whispering warmth
And uttering
'I love you's
But they haven't.
For this, I am pleased.
And this fluttering thing
Residing in my chest
Can't find a way out
To tell you,
To thank you.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
** In An Old Cathedral**
She knelt upon a plank, plain oaken
(sable cloak, her mourning guise),
and sensed the breath of distant sighs,
pale shades of pain behind blue eyes…
While clasping close a cross-like token
(holding hope for those in need)
she prayed her Lord "please intercede,
my woes be washed, my soul be freed"…
Archangels, in the skies evoken
(candles flickered, shadows shivered),
through the panes, the moonlight quivered,
summoned forth, the wish delivered…
Forgotten words he once had spoken
(dimly echoed ’neath the dome)
swept sweetness of the honeycomb
o'er distant realms they used to roam…
At midnight's knell, in dreams awoken,
memories of love unfeigned…
Though loneliness of grief remained,
she still held hope… hope hadn't waned…
And when the dawn had early broken,
by the font, in peace, she lay…
As sudden as a sunset ray,
the light of life had slipped away…
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Dear tired soul,
I have been on that couch many times before
The empty sheets that sit at your feet
Before falling to the floor
The empty pages of memories you flip through every night
Before gracefully falling asleep as the last tear falls on the pillow cases
Stained with liner and half-met dreams
There are moments you stare out the window
The sky so bright you close your eyes and go back to that all too familiar place of darkness
The same hiding place you've led yourself in for years
Thinking no one could find you and your imperfections there
But praying that someone will
I have lured myself in the same corners you've cozied up to, tired soul
Made a home out of the shattered pieces
Of distant, repeating glimpses of the past left after the free fall
My heart has sunk deeper and deeper
But take peace in knowing that as it sinks, it does get stronger
And that one day it will learn how to resurface itself without you even trying
Dear Tired Soul,
Despite the world's constant feeding of negativity towards their conjured up idea of selfishness,
I want you to know that it's ok
It's ok to put yourself first
It's ok to let go
It's ok to take a break
You can not move forward if you do not take the time to pry yourself out of the chains that have dragged you down
Seek consult from those you want to emulate
These things do not make you selfish
They make you better
Do not force yourself to pretend
Your bones have quivered long enough
Your muscles are tired from holding up to their "perfect" standards
You were never meant to be perfect
You were meant to beautiful
You are beautiful, and will always remain to be
Dear Tired Soul,
You are loved
Beyond the stars and the skies above
Your maker has caught every drop of sin from your body
You need not to worry any longer
Seek rest in Him who gives you the strength to open your eyes each day
Take pride in these little accomplishments
Cover your ears from those who tell you otherwise,
For they do not know the excruciating ordeal you go through each day you get up from bed
The sudden battles that errupt within yourself
Whether it be 10 stories high looking over the city or on the ground when you look over your scarred wrists
Of whether you should give up, or give yourself another chance
Open your heart to what He tells you
And wait for the day when the suffering is over, and the crying shall seize
You are tired, my dear
But you are far from being defeated
I hear your pleads, as I have heard mine sounding the same
You will be alright, tired soul
We will be alright
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
At night we were a fresco
painted by an astronaut, our
messy bed the chapel of a
voyeuristic God, where glory
worked with hurried hands
in frenzied fellowship and
hallelujah was a sigh that
quivered on my lips, then we
nodded off like angels of our
own apocalypse; it was made-up
love, when we woke up,
the dreamed up stuff of kids.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
In timeless fashion you held the key,
With quivered lip, between your teeth.
I lay and lay and lay and lay,
But full in sleep ive never fell.
Dreams are all I see of you,
With twisted fate you fell from me.
Now I lay in bed asleep,
Under cold sheets you left for we.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
I saw yonder—
leaves the colour of rusted coins
flattened into the soil,
their veins crumbling at a touch.
Coffee-stained envelopes lay scattered,
their paper-thin as skin,
ink bled blue by rain,
a Paris stamp whispering 1928
from a corner eaten by time.
They kept company with a bruised brown apple,
bitten once, abandoned,
its sweetness turned to rot
in the chill of a narrow room
in the mammoth province of Brandenburg, Prussia.
The rickety Tudor house groaned—
timbers bowing like old men,
windows clouded with breath
that had not been drawn in years.
The past lingered here,
a pale thing pacing the halls,
knocking without fists,
begging to be loosed.
Cobwebs clung to my wrists,
dust rising like breath
as I pried open the forgotten mail—
letters folded and refolded,
addresses crossed out,
sentences that never found their mouths.
“Let’s ride the rails,” he said.
His voice—young, low, certain—
rang through me
like iron striking iron.
My knees softened.
The floor tilted.
“We should get going.”
Two women in white scrubs
smelled of soap and starch,
their hands firm, practiced, final.
Step by step,
I was lifted onto wheels
that hummed and rattled,
carrying me through corridors of echo
toward a place newly named,
a place I would never call home.
The economy collapsed like wet paper.
The war broke what remained.
Yet memory stayed—
warm as breath inside the chest,
refusing burial,
refusing silence.
It never died.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
I peeked in and on her bed in gay profusion lying there.
Lovely ribbons,scarlet ribbons,scarlet ribbons for her hair.
Moonbeams pierced the silent night.
polished her brush bronze cheeks. the ghost of a smile
quivered her mouth.slowly her lips parted and she said a name . whispered.
still asleep in a dream.
(please lord let me go ahead when we part. What would my purpose be after)
I knew it just then that to live without her would be my hell and so
I laid awake savoring every minute the rise and fall of her chest.Burning
Burning her into my fiber .Laid quietly beside her .
Cursed my mortality.
Scarlet ribbons,lovely ribbons for her hair.
If I live to be one hundred.I will never know from where
Came those ribbons,scarlet ribbons.Scarlet ribbons for her hair.
Lovely ribbons,scarlet ribbons,Scarlet ribbons for her hair.
I will never know from where.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
I poured out every thought upon the page,
Filling it up with all the rage and anger,
That you have instilled inside me.
My pen literally quivered,
As I held it in my sweaty hand,
Yet the words flowed swiftly,
As venomous as any snake,
And almost as deadly.
As I poured the last of the wine into my glass,
I reviewed my handiwork.
Three pages of anger.
Three pages of hurt.
An expression of all you’ve done to me,
As best as I possibly could.
I carefully folded the letter,
And stuffed it in the envelope.
And with quivering pen,
I wrote out your address.
It was late, and I’d post it in the morning.
I went off to bed that night.
The next day I spent quietly around the house.
It was cold outside,
And it was warm by the fire.
In the afternoon,
I opened another bottle of wine.
I sat pensively for some time,
Just watching the flames dance
Upon the logs in the fireplace.
Amidst the crackling of the timbers,
I picked up the envelope.
I stare down at your name upon it.
I take another sip of wine,
And remove the letter.
As I begin to read it again,
I am reminded of everything you’ve ever done.
All the hurt you’ve caused,
To myself and my family,
Comes back again over three pages.
My blood starts to boil again,
And my palms start to sweat.
There is a damp thumbprint on the page,
And the edges of the letter are damp and frayed,
From holding it tightly in my hands.
I lean back in my chair.
I know I am not ready to forgive.
I don’t know that I ever will be.
And God knows I will never forget.
In fact, I hope you rot in Hell,
And if I could deliver you there myself,
Lord knows, I would.
But, I can never stoop to your level.
I can never stoop to your level.
I sit for some time just watching the fire.
In a while, I pick up the letter,
And walk over to the fireplace.
I toss it upon the flames.
I sit back down and sip my wine.
And as I watch the letter burn,
The sparks crackling,
And the black soot fall upon the logs,
I know I can never stoop to your level,
But, there’s a part of me that says to myself,
“God, I wish that letter were you.”
11-07-11.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 1:41 AM UTC
It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.
Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.
All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.
And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.
And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
It is written in the story of old
That there lived a witch near the forest of Gravenhold
Her duty was to keep the ghouls at bay
And guide spirits back on their path who were led astray
She lived secluded and people rarely visited
It made her sad sometimes, but that was just the witch's life, wasn't it?
She was alone until that faithful day
A day with heavy rain and a spirit who didn't go away
"Are you lost and do you seek guidance?" The witch asked
The spirit didn't reply and only stared
Their eyes showed nothing but grief
Their early passing didn't seem to be a relief
"I've seen that look before." The witch said
"That look of regret because you know you can't go back."
The spirit's lips quivered and their eyes watered
Their mind filled with doubt if they could continue what they started
"Do not be afraid, my friend. Not all your loved ones are among the living."
"You will surely meet again and they will guide you towards your new beginning."
The witch led the spirit towards a passage in the woods
Bringing them back on the path where they once stood
"My friend, if I can give you one last piece of advice."
"I've been here many days & many nights."
"And if there's one thing I've learned it's this is not goodbye."
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC
A dance with the devil, fiery grace
Her lips quivered as he offered the pomegranate & she delighted in the taste
The vampire or the victim?
Not as naive as she was written.
Hot breathless gasps of passion,
As the demon cries out blessings to his salvation
A queen is crowned in the hellish nation
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC