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Literature Text
On display in the red-lighted intersection
Is a memory of a mothball nightmare,
A silver Buick totaled and your
Silver hair red.
The scene is vague in my clouded eyes,
Figment sirens ringing in my ears
As people rush to help him,
But not you.
And all the while I am in a car, you car,
Speeding through the red-tinted light,
My heart silent, when I hear
A whisper: Faster.
Is a memory of a mothball nightmare,
A silver Buick totaled and your
Silver hair red.
The scene is vague in my clouded eyes,
Figment sirens ringing in my ears
As people rush to help him,
But not you.
And all the while I am in a car, you car,
Speeding through the red-tinted light,
My heart silent, when I hear
A whisper: Faster.
Literature
So, I lied.
I am a poet.
At least,
that's what my
skin tells me when
I bleed.
I'm slowly melting into
bed sheets not worth
lying in twice.
Half sick of shadows,
I think I've lost my mind.
My thoughts are s p i n n i n g
and my bones are shaking.
But I keep repeating re-peating
repeating your name like a mantra.
All I want to do is sleep.
But you see,
I bleed more than red
and there is this ink pen
digging through my skin.
Literature
Online
"I have a problem."
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But-"
"No."
"
"
"Thank you."
"But
this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"I know."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the q
Literature
Running Away
"What are you afraid of?" He had asked her as they lay there, under a bay window that showed a velvet black sky, sprinkled with sparkling diamonds. After a few minutes, a hand reached out and took his. He looked down at the soft hand, paper white with rivulets of sapphire under the skin. It had never occurred to him just how much he loved her hands until now.
"Would you like the truth? Or will a lie suffice?" A dulcet voice whispered. She had still not turned to look at him, but her hand in his remained strong.
"The truth." He always asked her for the truth. He didn't want rubies of falsehood, of lies, to ruin what they had taken so long to
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Comments3
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This is so emotionally intense. It's so interpretive, and you did an amazing job implying things that you don't just come right out and say. Bravo!