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This story was written by my 10 year old son David as a surprise for me.  I am indeed, surprised and pleased,  I hope you will be too. Melanie "Sometimes a story gets so crowded you can't tell an original story anymore." Scott Cawthon • Part 1 He turned the key in the lock and... Continue Reading →

Don't be too kind to me. I'm only human and like it or not There's still a heart ticking away In here. Worse yet, it feels things and I'm tired. Stupid thing, it still wants to believe that maybe words aren't all doggerel and dirges secrets and lies and wooful design. so, please, don't be... Continue Reading →

Punches leave stains. people call them bruises but stains is more accurate. words leave stains, too. they hunch shoulders and they burn in your chest, and they mar your view of yourself until all you see is ugly. they scar your body in ways that no one else can see. some stains can be removed... Continue Reading →

I want a drink. It is thirsty work Fighting your daemons Why not just give in? The bottle beckons; Dance, the cruel tease she Makes the poison glow The potion relieves Just one sip will make It all better - but It won't nor can it. Just another lie Like that from your lips ©MelanieMcCurdie

Fearsome. You are fearsome, lady, from those eyes that hide some kind of beautiful brain that coincides perfectly with the savage monster you hide inside oh I pretend that I don't notice or care but I do and I want to not be like all the others but baby, you're killing me here It isn't... Continue Reading →

There's a woman in the mirror that I barely recognise - maybe a little around the eyes and in the ghost of a smile that seems to tremble on the verge of - I'm not sure but I empathise with the wistfulness that lies behind the false facade window dressing you know, maybe it's a... Continue Reading →

The voice in my head is incessantly whining at me;  Don't start.  Stop Crying.  Big girls don't cry.  You're stronger than this. Gods, shut up already.  I'm not stronger than this, not remotely.  Perhaps once upon a time,  when I could breathe and move without scrutiny and suspicion, and without resignation, maybe then,  I was stronger.  Now,... Continue Reading →

Watching this election from my post has me concerned on so many levels. It's like watching a bad beauty pageant through a slot in the panic room door, and wondering which of the candidates is going to trip and explode. Bad whether the enforced steel doors are strong enough to withstand the blast. Someone likened... Continue Reading →

I didn’t mean to kill her. They, they were paintings on the wall, just collateral damage; She, Folie, with those bottle green eyes, I meant to kill her and with intent. It wasn’t intentional, more like a premeditated mistake - an unplanned surgical strike. She begged for rebellion and Folie followed the shadows With her unflappably bright... Continue Reading →

There she sits, this Goddess in a Marley t-shirt and plain black panties The way the shirt is plastered to her small frame it accentuates those perfect breasts the chill in the room as plain as the nipples poking through the thin fabric Supple, slim, my hands itch to touch The smooth porcelain of her... Continue Reading →

I didn't come wrapped in a bow or pretty paper, instead I came home a raving silent mess full of anxiety and nightmares fresh from Hell.  My wife said I was a gift, then, and said I should have died there at the end of our life together.  She was right.  I know I killed my... Continue Reading →

as Eveline Hood Have you ever wondered what fear tastes like?  Like afraid for your life because this time it might be the end of it kind of fear?  If not, count yourself among the lucky ones.  To me, fear tastes like metal; like I've been sucking on a penny for too many hours.  Coppery.... Continue Reading →

A thought: In my opinion The work we do as independent artists of all types is a labour of love and not easy work at times.  We do our level best to put out a decent product,  given our own resource availability. It isn't always simple or smooth. So when someone picks apart another's work, as... Continue Reading →

Someone told me that happiness will never be found at the bottom of any bottle, that only numbness and tears lived there and I believed him until I discovered that numbness has its merits and that tequila and tears make a fine mixture in which to drown in ©MelanieMcCurdie

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