Dead Sex

/

The tip of my knife keeps jabbing the life from the corpse on this night
On the tightrope, I slide to the side where the body I’ll hide
Hanging in plain sight invisible to the untrained eye
“Die, die, die!” I scream and I cry unable to control the words that go through my mind
And the red of the dead blood resting in bed with the body overhead hanging instead of buried where its meant to be
The hurry scared me and impulse scurried
The flurries of snow out the window crawl and build up blocking the light, FUCK! I can’t see shit
I must’ve fallen asleep. Is he still dead? Where would he be?
He’s gone, the rope hangs alone and there’s no clue
I don’t know where a dead man who came back to life would go
Do you?

By Amber Black

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Maestro

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What if my life was just a play
I watched upon a screen
From someplace far away from here
Some place I've never seen

What if events that had transpired
Were planned and calculated
All the things that I had done
Were carefully orchestrated

Would I watch in fascination
From that place so far away
Or would I just be bored to death
Each and every day

What if it was my choice to draw
The path my life would take
That things depended on the thoughtful
Choices I would make

Would it not be more intriguing
Playing out before my eyes
If it was up to me to solve
The puzzle of my whys 

Wouldn't it be more fulfilling
To see the life I made
Where my free-will precluded
Engineered or readymade

Well I think that's just what we do
As we gaze out from the stars
We make our own life's happiness
Or create resultant scars

We do not need to intervene
From that place so far away
For we direct our own production
For as long as we can stay

By Sharon Cunningham 

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/sharon.cunningham.5076

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My Baby Boy

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My baby boy, I can't even watch him grow. I bet he's as tall as me now.
Instilled in my mind, that's broke all the time. But when I close my eyes I see his smile.
 
"Daddy Lets Go!" Squirt guns! Backyard! It's going down! Clothes Drenched! Oh my.
Monsters Inc. Falling asleep on me. I won't even move, I'm just gonna breathe.
 
My 3 song set list, my guitar gently weeps as you say "Daddy Play" an I strum till you sleep.
Do you kiss him for me? Do you tell him his Daddy loves him?
 
One day he'll know this Mountain I'm climbing, the battle I'm fighting! He's why I'm striving.
I'll see you soon Emmy cause I won my war! I'm beat an torn but for all the more!
 
I'll throw you up in the air again even when your ten!
 
Cause I love an miss you so much!
Until I see you again!

By Vegas Gialketsis
 
Website: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vegas-gialketsis
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/michael.gialketsis.9

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My Feathered Quill

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I wrote sweet words of love to you
That flowed from line to line
My quill just seemed to scribe itself
Well it knew, this heart of mine

I penned how hard my heart would beat
Whenever you were near
How your passionate words of love
Would echo in my ear

I wrote of how delightful flurries
Would dash across my skin
Even how your touch oft made me giggle -- Much to my chagrin

But then they all just disappeared!
All those loving words I'd penned! 
What appeared, instead, etched by my quill
"Our love will never end!"

By Sharon Cunningham

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Artwork of Cats

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...ruined my life,” I look down at my hands watching the blood drip and as each drop of the blood hits the floor it makes the puddle deeper. Surrounding my feet is a puddle of my cat’s blood. “The stupid cat I killed, by stabbing its little body eighteen times, was named Tiny. You see the problem with Tiny was that she loved to use her claws and dig them right into my skin. Which normally I didn’t mind but tonight wasn’t a normal night. It was prom night.”

“I hope you don’t think this is the first cat that I’ve killed. Let me show you the inside of my closet.” I walk towards a white, almost brown closet that towers over me, “it looks like it is rotting and slowly killing itself. It probably is. It is tired of being my hiding place for these little furry dead cats of mine. Well I can’t exactly lie to you and say these little cats are furry. I don’t want to start our relationship on the wrong...

By Maddy Cakes  

Twitter: @MsTidbits

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The Bar & The Car

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The ticking clock tocks
The talk ends and the car locks
Dead engine, dead time
Bad mentions, worse crimes
Arguments and fights
Augmented intents
Shit nights
Black out wasted
A tasteless, faceless, disgrace
Shattered glass
Bruises
The broken last
But remain useless
Flashbacks flash back
Buried beneath a bottle
Throttle, empty the tank
Hollow with a stare that’s blank
Tomorrow rewind, play back
Swallow the guilt that built up
Follow the hill to the top
Take a deep breath before the drop
Jump.
Roll The Credits, Please.

 

By Jeffry Crole

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My Ambition Up and Left Me

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My ambition up and left me, and now I’m really in a sweat.
The computer’s on, coffee’s hot, a CD’s playing, I’m all set
to write a story, poem or book until I start to write and then
my wandering mind goes quickly off to hither and then yon. When,
I wonder, will it come back to compose some poetry or prose?
Unfazed by caffeine and dark chocolate, my ennui just grows and grows,
transforming all my good intentions to pavement on that Hell-bound road.
I should be frustrated; I should be angry. I should pen an ode,
or rambling essay, or some fiction, or fictional non-fiction
praising my valiant deeds, stunning looks, and perfect diction.
Instead, I check my e-mail, look at Facebook and play solitaire
when I should be scribbling novels or love poems to a damsel fair.
But me? I keep on staring at the computer’s large, empty screen,
confident at this pace I’ll have a paragraph by Halloween.

 

By Tom Harris

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