Edge of your seat folks! More like edge of the bed Live screaming Live streaming tears Talk about true horror It’s so loud Too loud Round and round Only the hammers of hell drown They fade out the noise
Stop beating yourself! but how? How when your brain hates you
Dredging up an old fleshy skeletons And they snap snap snap They snap and snap and It laughs while I squirm While I scream and plead Snap snap snap Beat my own fists Against the floor Forehead against the bones But it’s all agony from there
Alone at 4:48 am and I can’t breathe Shiver and shake like a fever seizure Listen to a voice suggesting solutions But antidepressants are not the answer They don’t stop the nightmares; The clawing for leverage To keep myself from falling The gasping for air to keep from drowning The search for glue to keep from falling to pieces Or the quicksilver pain that follows on waking
In the small burg of Skull Creek, a death is on the prowl. Some say it is a copycat killer, out for his moment of fame, but Jacqueline DePasse and her diligent crew of detectives soon learn that it is so much more than a tribute to the only known and convicted female serial killer in captivity. Cathleen Carson. DePasse, with the assistance of crime reporter Jake Michaels and her team, soon discover that one victim survived and she will be the key, the one who must Roll the Beautiful Bones and stop a killer before he strikes again.
i was home to my family
my body housed life and suffered death
i lay in solitude, listening to him breath
listening to the quiet ticking of the clock.
it was Tuesday, late when
he staggered to our bed
still wearing that damned fedora
and her perfume
and nothing else
i was lonely, and miserable that night
crying in the dark with my eyes closed,
while he rode the waves of pleasure
and i could smell her all over him
i felt so small
my fingers tracing the scratches she left behind
when he came, it was inside me
calling her name and
it scalded like tears
when he rolled away,
murmuring her name again
as he drifted to sleep.
i lay alone, last Tuesday
shivering in the lightness room
in an effort to be silent, in mourning
i just wanted contact
i needed to be warm
i needed to feel something
other than the numb cold
stuck struggling with the knowledge
that he was elsewhere, often
wondering why i’m not enough
trapped here, while he snores
it is Tuesday evening, again
i pace the gleaming wooden floors
eyes on the clock on the mantel
eyes on the front door.
I made this hell a home
there are no children
to fill the empty hallways
the long empty days last forever
and when night falls,
the cobwebs flutter and
the ghosts flitter through
the in-between spaces
they dance and knock on the walls
sometimes they cast shadows on the glass
they become people with the endless chatter
unable to grasp my sorrow
but with a solution
so today, I hid in the darkened parlour
choosing to stop the insistent fight
and let my sanity skip and slip
I drank champagne and ate oranges
danced barefoot on the thorny line
where my sanity capered and
cried until I laughed
i’m still laughing
he begs and pleads from the bed
wearing that stupid fedora
there, where I said my last goodbye
where I painted it with my tongue and
carved my name into his flesh
when he filled me with his tainted seed
the air is heavy
with the scent of fire, and ringing screams
Outside the sirens wail and
inside, he thrashes and writhes
burning in our bed
i watch him struggle
fingering the stem
of my champagne glass and
lift my other hand
placing it under my chin
in thought and reflection
Thighs spilled over edges
Although not a lot
And my gut filled my lap
More than the kids ever did
Shortness of breath from walking
Down the street was more common
Than breathlessness for any other reason
Today I sat in the same place
On different furniture
In the corner and
I barely filled half of the cushion
Nothing to spill over
And there was room on my lap
for my bigger baby boy
And the mutt
Although not a lot
Having no air comes from
Beauty rather than fear of death
From lack of breath
Somehow, even with my hands
Resting on the new points
and jutting edges
And the image that the mirror shows
I still don’t feel like me
I first saw her reflection in the shop window of that absurd little doll store. The one on 5th and Main?
Tragically gorgeous in that B Movie kind of way, I couldn’t take my eyes from her curves and edges. The porcelain perfection of her complexion and those lips. full and pouty – red in that almost garish porn star way. But on her it was fresh cherries from the tree and I was willing to bet that they tasted as good
And there I stood, stunned into silence with my cock at full mast and holding a half-naked children’s toy in my hand. It felt like I was smiling but likely I was leering and be goddamned if she didn’t return my lustful stare, flicking her tongue out like some living thing to taste the right of the lollipop she’d been playing with before pushing it slowly between her wet looking lips. She never dropped her eyes once.
I thought I had died, just then when she smiled at me and called me forward with one black tipped finger. And I came, then went to her with burning cheeks and the front of my jeans beginning to show a dark spot. I wanted to run but she put her hand over it and put her mouth on mine. I was sure I was in Hell but man it felt like Heaven.
When the shopkeeper cleared his throat, she stopped licking my teeth to look at him, with her hand squeezing my tortured dick. Heaven.
She nodded and released me, whispering in my ear, “come see me if you want company.” Hell.
The man snickered and finally guffawed before staring me soberly in the eyes and shaking his head. “Take an old man’s advice,” he said, lighting his match with a worn fingernail and holding it to his home rolled cigarette. “She loves company. Don’t be her next conquest.” I handed him the doll I’d ceased fondling while embarrassingly thanking him for his sage advice and his time. Turning to leave, I saw the most amazing thing in a small room off to the side.
Full sized dolls, dressed in 50’s clothing and so realistic I laughed in spite of myself. The shopkeeper chortled grimly, “remember what I said.”
I didn’t listen, of course. I followed her home in my old green pickup and watched her struggle with her playthings, cursing and spitting vile and deviant admonishment.
It shocked me, intrigued me so I jumped out of my truck and ran to her rescue like some brain-dead Lancelot. She smiled and kissed me full on my mouth and pressed her firm breasts to my chest. But all the while, I could hear the shopkeeper’s raspy words in my ears.
I wondered about how much company she kept. I wondered what her name was. I wondered how the old man knew. All this as I stepped through her front door That was forever ago, just before I discovered that I loved her. My Captor, my Daemon. My wife. And my questions were eventually answered in far more detail than I care to remember.
Mustn’t frown! She wants smiling happy people.
My father-in-law, you have already met, albeit briefly. You really don’t want to make his acquaintance or hers, because it’s like Pops, the Shopkeeper says, my wife, Misery?
It’s easier in the dark. Alone doesn’t feel quite so isolating wet cheeks go unnoticed Somehow, the bleakness seems a comfort Not unlike a pair of warm arms.
She doesn’t know I’m watching Lost in her rain cloud I’m positive that she’d prefer an embrace To the cold silence
There she sits Cross-legged, nude, Tragic beauty she cries, face in a pillow The mirror covered in linen I know she is wishing for the strength For the courage set right the horror show That she sees in the mirror reflection
But, much like me, she’s a coward A loser done up on codeine and weed Practically paralysed, poor thing And all in an effort to achieve peace Much like me, she’s achieving nothing close to it. These are the nights I can’t help but hate Because what other choice is there I can hardly barge in, now can I? Invading her misery by pulling her close I want to take it away, if she’d let me If I could,
Instead I watch her turn it inward It’s a simpler method to live with Mechanisms to emancipation I write the steps to her freedom
It’s all about weights and measures The balance is off The telemetry is fucked Knowing so doesn’t calm a racing heart Or stop the tearing desire to howl
Soon, so soon, Impatience cries I’m sick of waking each day Gasping because I’m dying of suffocation It all comes from bottling The anticipation is agony
She rises, long and lean Her lips rippling as she chants the same ugly litany Telling herself; It’s stupid to be in fear of nothing idiotic to be afraid of long dead monsters What are you, 12? Trembling with like a child No desire in the dark Are you so desperate to be swept away? Just take the pills and shut up
Pacing, bare flesh flashing Her hair flies static Staring out at the street below Tonight its defenestration she battles
I know how she thinks i know all this as well as I know my own heart The idea of that beautiful body Splattered like red velvet vomit Horrified and aroused
Blood spilled spells oxygen. The weight of biology is lifted Swiftly slipping to press against the glass She stares, pondering and My temperature burns hotter The daemon salivates, Its venom fills my mouth Such a glorious gluteus maximus It calls my palms with a sirens wail So long she’s teased me Pleading for release from her glass tower Tonight her prayers are answered Blood is life.
I paid my tithe and I paid my time
and I paid my dues
I payed for my sins and
prayed for my soul
prayed for forgiveness
for sins I hadn’t committed yet
All because my ancestors
grandparents, my parents, did
because a man in a robe told me I should
I must, he said –
Now your head and pray for forgiveness
Pray for your sins to be washed away
Pray for your eternal reward
Pray to what?
Pray to a God that professed
His devotion in return for mine
For His Forgiveness
But stood idly watching
Floated by on His Heavenly Perch
Waiting while I suffered
Like some Silent Stalkery Saviour
While I pled and pleaded
Help me be a better person
Help him not be angry anymore
I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong
I know I deserve it but I don’t know why
Please don’t forsake me
God Please Make It Stop
I’ll pray harder
I’ll Do Better
I’ll do anything
The mindless begging
Became a realisation that
I am and was my own God
My own Saviour
i’m not what i appear
i wish that i were able to be
strong or confident or assured of myself
truth is that in intimate gatherings
in smaller spaces and darker places
the likelihood of a typical initial response
is relatively high due to social programming
however, the effort expended to maintain in this manner
is slim to nil, or less
Fair Warning – once you are in my eyes
Tomorrow is cutting day. Yup! I’m going under the knife!
Admittedly, I’m a dight nervous about some legalised lunatic armed with nasty ass tools and enough meds to knock Godzilla into the next dimension being anywhere near my nearly perfect physique. That was snarkasm, by the way, There’s nothing perfect about this physique and I’m good with that thanks.
I’m just kidding. My doctor, she is very sweet and actually quite gentle, but the fact remains. Nasty tool = not enough medicinal tequila in the world…. It is my intent to distract myself with a variance of artistic pursuits and filmatic offerings in an effort to keep myself distracted from said fact.
I will be out of commission for a short period of time, and as insulting as it is for my family to be giving praise to the Almighty for the gift, they have a point. A girl needs her beauty sleep and blah blah recovery blah blah blood sounds cool blah blah blah
You feel me?
So, beginning today, if you should need my attentions, and you really don’t want my full attention, the usual methods will suffice. I do intend to be playing my music at brain shattering levels when I am not sleeping or writing and this will necessitate some creative attention-getting skills.
If you have never grieved,
If you have never denied
the finality of reality
If you have never felt the
Timpani drums of your heart
Pounding and screaming in your ears
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
and felt the weight of Reaper’s
sad, lonely gaze on your soul
Then you have no business
telling somebody else
how to mourn