where the impossible seems three shorts steps to the left, and one giant leap into insanity…
“What I want to paint for you, in these final few words is a picture of a lost and confused young man, who had no one to turn to except himself. But unfortunately the man he was, was deeply scarred by the people around him, and was unable to help...”
Pretty perfect pictures, a dream of lies not told, a mechanical boy, with a heart of a dead soul, oil pumps clean, playing the role of a real toy, like the dildo in your drawer, waiting to sink into you once more, playing with your twisted mind, while you sit upon the throne of jealousy, …
Look up in the sky, it’s today’s new high, a bead of sweat, a glistening rod, so thrust it’s in you, let it cum, your minds going to rage, as you escape the cage, violence personified, let it take you in, let it make you sin, as you feel your clit expand, come see, let’s …
Fractured fascination, let me in, decaying flesh that still wants to live, blood poisoned by the venom of selfishness, regret a word not understood, pretending, practicing, share the life of a lie, unstable in its birth, a car crash in reverse, death before dying, won’t you play my victim, and let me take you in, to my perfect sin…
Catatonic whispers said on the bed of death, how the pretty kids lie on their feet, symptoms of a withering hand, upheld not without, a fornicated system, a mirror showing the true face of your insanity, a mirror that’s more like a window, an opening, a hole, somewhere to venture, a perfect place…
He stands and sashays around her, taking another drag on his cigarette. “What would you do to me?” He asks coyly. “WHAT?” She sneers. “What would you do to me, if you were free and had any opportunity?” She stares at him like a cat stares down a foolish bird.
“Please Melvin, whatever she did to you, let us help you, don’t tur….” The explosion the revolver makes interrupts his train of thought, as does the bullet that lodges itself into his skull. He stares silently towards Melvin, as his mouth opens and closes like a goldfish in a bowl.
“Did it hurt?” She asks as she turns to him. “It depends how you look at it, for him,” he says nodding towards his lifeless carcass that lies in front of them. “It hurt a whole lot. But when I say it, I’m talking about life. Death was the greatest...”
The dancing rabbits listen, as the tree of fate lies unforgiven, a disgusting is made, a message sent through a plague, disease and famine, death replaces birth, segmented sections, an ending, a succumbing, ritualistic happenstance, fleeting stares, grizzled words, a handful of hair, blood, dirt, and all things sweet, a favoured journey, a world deceased…
Motionless within the motion, meaningless sex, below the wanting of the need, a wall built to climb, a ride never to be ridden, feelings rotten, a scar from ear to ear, as the lie of an incomplete picture is told through blind eyes, cum on the face of your shame, wipe it across, and spread your sin….
K Is Silent k Is SiLeNt K iS siLENT kIsSiLeNt
If you like poetry, short stories, political rantings and/or articles then you have come to the right place.
Poems, Short stories, and more.
Write everyday for 365 days. Fact, fiction and everything in between.
Fan Fiction and Fan Art
so much to say and such little time
A domain for independent writing
Writing in the shadows
By Kel Dayheart
Words of a Wayward Clown
A place for storytelling, poetry, and other wordy things. Come have a read!
The world where the arcane pervades all but rules few
Read on, it's good for the brain.
the genre of true crime is asking for a reinvention. just look at how it's dressed.
Short Stories - Mostly dark ones!
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
I'm Technically a Writer
beautiful thinking
Truths of mine, in which I hope you find yourselves
We're growing... Things in the Well!
