where the impossible seems three shorts steps to the left, and one giant leap into insanity…
She swallows as she nervously pulls a packet of cigarettes from her jacket, and places one in her mouth. As she lights it, she takes a deep breath in and then looks up to her brother’s menacing gaze. “Do you remember Clare?” “You mean imaginary Clare?” “So that’s a yes?”
He scoffs, “Aside from all these flimsy bits of information, you have nothing to really support your claims that Dion is the cause of the disease, correct?” “Yes, b…” he doesn’t get to finish as Garrison holds up a hand. “This conversation is over Patrick, go and continue your research!”
“You brought that upon yourself, you know that, don’t you?” He says through clenched teeth. The only answer he receives is her cries, so he slaps her again across the other cheek, harder this time. “Do you want another?” She shakes her head vigorously. “Good, now the question. Why lie?
Because no matter what I do, I keep getting the desire to go back out there for one last run,” he says as he looks out past their table, and into the world beyond, then turns back to Samba. “Don’t you wonder if you’ve still got all the old moves?”
“Sam The Man,” Officer Hedwig says, they both turn to him, then Simon turns to Fiona. “Name ring a bell?” “He was the Christian Construction worker, right?” She asks, as she turns back to Officer Hedwig. “Yeah, he was a ritualistic poster. Every Thursday he’d send her a new post...”
She shoots up and slaps him across the face. “OW! What the fuck was that for?” He yells. “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT MOVIE I’M TALKING ABOUT, DO YOU?” She yells as she scrambles to her feet. “WHAT? Baby of course I know what movie you’re talking about, Honest I do!”
I looked for hope in the eyes of the endless, only to find lies that were relentless, a sin within the deceit, your deception worthless, a fraction of what was and could be, a dead bird at your feet, open the wings, let the maggots in, as a nagging, strikes deep, like a knife in the face, a clot in my hand, open the door, and test the …
Continue reading "The Hooks of a Sinking Line – Unhinged Poem"
Power to the spoken word, let it burn through your lips as it earns its wings, you want the width, but can’t handle the girth, Your plight might be worthless, your eyes may be blind, Jupiter rising in the north, an arm of justice, a husk of hate, cunning lies, too late for goodbyes…
“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, …
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!
