dying in a drowning embrace

Passion burns and she gasps
Earthshake quivering over a rigid rising
when he pulls the pleasure from her belly
Rhythmic motion of riding the ocean sighs

He watches desire rise from her chest
It’s a tsunami of tangled bodies
Her cries rise like a bird in flight
Both clinging to love
like a life preserver
While dying in a drowning embrace


©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Rolling the Beautiful Bones – coming soon to Fear Front Publishing

Splintered Petals

She sits quietly
Staring at her hands
Lost in thought
Her fingers writhe like snakes
Entangled and ensnared
Caught in her lap
Caught in her eye

She sits quietly
Staring at her hands
Her thoughts writhe like snakes
Entangled, ensnared
Caught in the word-trap
Caught in her sighs

She sits quietly
Staring at her hands
Her heart writhes like snakes
Entangled, ensnared
Choking on the words
The ones caught in her eyes

She sits quietly
Staring at her hands
The thoughts, words unspoken
Cannot be articulated, enunciated
Fear holds her captive
The madness is taking hold

She sits quietly
Staring at her hands
Lost in thought
She speaks in silences
Not a word she will speak
Since I cut out her tongue

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

a horrified shadow

If you have never felt hunger

a desperation so deep in your gut

that it gnaws at your bones and

it speaks in vernacular tongues

whispering to your pain addled brain

in the devil’s voice it denies,

tries to convince your starving stomach

that it doesn’t need that sustenance

then you have no right to tell me to be patient.  

 

It is devastating, to stand in the

refrigerator light sobbing,

in the open door of a food filled fridge and

know that there is not a damned thing in it

that you can ingest or imbibe

and there is nothing you can use

to fill that emptiness inside.

 

That experience

is enough

to destroy

anyone’s

mental wellbeing 

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©MelanieMcCurdie2017

Coming Soon to eBook and in paperback
Coming Soon to eBook and in paperback
Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now

Words

I’m just a girl, you know.
I love pretty things like fire and sunrises
Flutterbyes and bloodsauce
– stuff like that
But deeper down,
along the Pathway to the Other
There is a beautiful well in the middle of nowhere

I want to believe it still contains magic
That maybe wishes do come true
I remember when it was an oasis
made from morning dew
I loved there, long ago,
When I believed that he loved me
Because he said if was so

I loved there, in the lantern lights
Happy to lay amongst the thorns
Bright horizons and endless desire
That’s where they lived until love died
When the world changed and
And took everything with it

I’m just a silly girl, with stupid notions
A frilly smart filly who would rather be dumb
Than have to hide and pretend
That nothing bothers me because I lack
Intelligence to comprehend reality

Denying the fact that it burns
Doesn’t make the fire less hot
And denying desires doesn’t make them
Vanish like smoke
Instead, the agony increases
As I fade away with words unspoken

©MelanieMcCurdie

filter smash

I’m drunk and I’m pissed off about it. I also don’t care so I don’t know where that leaves us, except with me wishing there was more fucking tequila and sort of regretting smashing the shit out of my filter in self-defence and solidarity … mostly due to alcohol.

Yeah so the hell what if the wagon was moving when I fell off? it didn’t hurt a bit.  I feel nothing and I like it this way. There is less chance of someone getting their feelings injured by my lack of care for anyone’s feelings but my own.

No one else gives a hot damn past  their own desires, so why does it shock that I finally caught on?  My heart may be dilapidated and my soul battered,  but it still feels enough to know when I no longer matter enough to consider as anything more than a human doormat or stepping stone to the next best thing.

Fuck that noise. I may not be perfect but I’m worth it and a far sight more than those lame ass whiners who trap themselves in ivory towers and claim innocence while their horns glow.

I know what I am. I know why too. I also know that I am not sticking around to watch your world implode one more damned time then be obligated to listen to the endless bitching why why why. Waaahhh.

I don’t care why. I don’t want to hear lies and backtrack bullshit to protect your less than truthful conjecture.

I really expected more than the typical  human crap. That’s my bad and a mistake I’ll not likely make again.

Oh look. Vodka.

glassbone

It’s never been this way before
It rattled me, the shattery explosion
Awaking the sleeping giant
The oceans roar, like breathing through
A seizure of electric proportions
The seabirds soared and called
and sailed the breathless breezes
it rattled me to my core –
Being touched by lightning so similar to
A glassbone rebirth
So much more mind quaking
It’s so agonising to consider
Imploring the Goddess and pleading upon Her better nature
but it’s a worthless feat
in spite of its kind nature
as She does not hear the begging of
mere mortals smallish wants but,
instead gives larger gifts wrapped
In subtle hidden packages.

img_6241http://www.melaniemccurdie.com

Coming 2017

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Bite Me

You keep saying that

I don’t talk nor do I

express myself,  well ask

yourself why that could be

let’s see you utilise

that brain for more than

sexual function or

romantic fantasy

ask yourself again why

I don’t scream from rooftops

from soul balconies

what’s locked inside of me;

the way I love or hate

you’d investigate if

it mattered at all but

it doesn’t and while you

self serve a buffet of

narcissistic platitudes

that we are all expected

to imbibe as gospel

you have the ballsy nerve

to crown me drama queen

because I break down and

show my weaker side?

you can’t decide what to

say to me but run and

hide like a guilty child

instead of the adult

that  you shout claim to be.

Grow up already…okay?

I’m through with the raving

holier than thou, whining

attitude when someone

doesn’t gift wrap your wants,

your needs, your deep desires,

offered up on steaming on

a stolen silver plate.

trust me, no one wants the

half gassed effort made at

love so save the words and

prove it for a fucking

change instead of giving

me a menu and the

same shitty lip service

that is always on tap

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

Inside by David Boutin

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 opened the door.  To his horror, he saw an exact clone of himself knocked unconscious and a knife marked #1.  He essentially had to kill himself to escape this torment.  Inside himself, he found a key saying, “It was inside you all along.” As he finished reading it, James remembered who he was.

There was a door engraved exit and he opened it nervously.  Sure enough, it was an exit and James was happy.  He went home and found something peculiar.  His front door was engraved with a 2. All he could do was laugh as he realised there was no end to his torment.  He went inside.

James never came out again.

Part 2

It all started with a man named Thomas.  he came to a place named Pewter City to ask for directions to California.  He found it oddly deserted.  He explored, confused and came to a door marked with a 2 in blood.  Our of curiosity, Thomas opened the door and found a man crying in a corner.   Ignoring everything else, he tapped on the man’s shoulder and only caught a glimpse of the man’s bloodshot eyes.

Thomas awoke confused and without memory of who he was, and noticed that he was locked tight into a chair with a free clone of himself before him with a knife in his hand.  Thomas screamed as the cloned stabbed him to death.

But he didn’t die. Thomas was still alive, he was free and all he could see was a bright red exit sign.  So he ran and ran and ran until he blacked out.

Thomas ame to only to see a drop and a gun with a sign saying DO IT!

Thomas jumped.  He landed on some spikes that were arranged in the text #3 and never came to again.

Part 3

 

James woke up suddenly and everything was different. A loudspeaker boomed overhead, “Welcome James! Take a good look around.  It will matter.  You have 10 seconds starting….NOW 10-9-8-765 PSYCH!! You thought this was over, didn’t you? It isn’t over until you are dead.  I will hunt you down.  I will find you.  You will be #4. Goodbye James, for now.”

One second he was trapped in a chair, then he was free with a knife, then in a car and then impaled on spikes.  Outside! It was all too much and it all went black when the same voice spit from above his head, “it’s time to wake up! Rise and shine!”  James opened his eyes; he was on the lawn and everything was still the same as before he went inside the house.

“Rise and smell the ashes Jim!” 

The house transformed into a burning wreckage and he shook, shouting, “Who are you?”

The unknown voice laughed, “That’s for me to know, and you to find out Jimmy Boy!” There was another clone coming towards him and James held out his hand, shocked to see it held a gun.  Hanging from a tag, a message read, “Aim for the head and pull.”

James shot the gun.

 

Part 4

“well, they keep coming, so put on the show!”  It was him, that ham from all those years ago.  Finally, he is here; the man that caused all the fear. “Goodbye John,” he said, for now.”

This is the story of Stanley “Eggs” Benedict.

Stanley awoke tired.  He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see himself seconds before the world went black.

There was an exit sign flashing  in the distance, and with it, he, himself, was phasing in and out of existence.  The lights went out, even the sign and that is when he saw them and remembered it all.  The drop, the door, the loudspeaker voice, everything!

From behind him, a man’s voice spoke quietly, as the man himself stepped from the shadows. “Congratulations Mr. Benedict. You passed the test and  stayed sane.” It was his best friend, Jeremy Fitzgerald.

What was that!? Stanley yelled, shocked.

“Revenge.  Revenge for that Saw prank earlier in August. I know you have fond memories of that,” Jeremy replied with a smirk.

“But how? I don’t get it.”

The light is so bright and Jeremy’s blurry face appears laughing, “You were in VR, dummy.”

Stanley shook his head, and said, “so, it wasn’t real?”

Jeremy just laughed.  The next day, he was found decapitated with no reason or explaination. A fitting end for a torturing psychopath.

daveyb-story-photo

 

Part 5: The Return

“…..hello…?  I’m back!!”

Memories of long ago rushed into my head.  Living like this, you’re better off dead. “I’ll be found deep down underground.  What have I done to deserve this torture?”

“Wake up.  Wake Up!” and suddenly, he was but why does it matter? I’m dead.

“It will matter.  See that remote? Push the button and be the core.”  There is a remote in my hand that has only one button.  I press it and all turns black.

“A man chooses but a slave obeys. This is not the end.  More shall come, more shall die. Watch your back.”

Part 6

The end is near as the encryption appears

“This is the last test, James.  After this, you are free.”

James is suddenly falling.  He has been impaled, shot, stabbed and phased out of existence.  Now he is in a room with four doors each with several numbers marked on them. He opens door 1 and sees more and more doors and with a sigh, starts down the hall. James becomes lost and is never seen again.

 

Doggerel and dirges

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 too kind
I may believe you.

©MelanieMcCurdie

Stains

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
given enough time, trust and soul bleach,
but the truth of it is that

some stains never fade.

@MelanieMcCurdie2016

bones don’t lie

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 blessing in disguise
that I don’t know this
beautiful wretched creature
with the sad longing eyes
she’s not what she used to be
the truth lays like bones
in the tears that threaten to spill
and I’d give anything to see them
overflow happy rather than hide
the misery away behind a
deep-seated desire to just fade away.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

The Swollen Man

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,  not even close.

I know that tears are a waste.  I know that they are a weakness and that they get you hurt.  Whatever entity lives up there knows that I’ve lived enough lessons in my life to know that’s a fact, Jack.  There are those that will shake their heads in disbelief or in disgust at my words, likely wondering if I have finally blown a mental gasket and if I am leaking sanity.  I’m neither out of my head nor crazy;  things would be simpler if I were, but no, this is all just result of environmental poisonings, experiences and far too many teachings from the fist.  One learns early on how to bottle and I am old hat at that game. I’ve forgotten more about self-preservation techniques than most should ever know in their lives.

People are so blind.  They have little clue about how it feels to sit and shout at yourself you must not be weak sister every single time tears threaten or how it feels to know that you are going to fail. I doubt most of them could survive if they couldn’t find a Starbucks.  I wonder if any of you  can comprehend being torn apart by your own mind, over a few tears?  I don’t think that the majority could, and I pray that they never learn how.

It’s a dual existence truly, learning how to shatter on the inside, and while smiling on the out.  Sometimes, some nights it gets to be too much and the pressure can’t be held any longer.  No matter how one tries, no matter how one berates oneself,  those tears are going to fall.

No one likes to be made fun of as they are falling apart; the beatings I give myself, the fear that I can taste in my mouth when that dam breaks, the shame of crying because I can’t stop, is agonising.  To be poked at and told to stop and denied release when it’s an impossible to hold back that tidal wave with what amounts to a drink umbrella  is more than unfair.  It’s cruel.  The words just add a sting, when warm arms would’ve been a softer place to land.

In attempting to be all that everyone requires, one loses oneself in the demands.  It’s difficult to juggle, but I like to think that I do it well.  But it is difficult to be that tough supporter for those I care for, love while I starve myself.  The needs of the many and all that.   My life is micromanaging the undefinable, and making it work is all that much harder, and I manage while balancing that fine line between function and fulfilment.  Existing in a loud, large bubble is no way to live.

He told me that he was going home to check on the animals and to put gas in the car.  It would have been believable if it weren’t for the fact that it was quite difficult to drive without the keys to the vehicle,  and he hadn’t asked for them since he tossed them into my purse when we arrived. He had planned to drink. Again.

Tonight, after the community bonfire that we had no choice but to attend, I saw him there in the shadows of the commissary. His eyes were full of brimstone and bite, lustfully gazing on the youthful wife of our Mayor with his dick in his eyes.  I saw how she undulated slightly when her eyes met his, and the way she changed position with a gasp before excusing herself with a small smile and a flush.  His eyes followed her all night, with his hand rubbing at his crotch absently and his tongue tracing his lips over and over, likely wishing they were hers, while I stood there embarrassed and growing angrier.  It didn’t matter, because  I wasn’t there, or rather, was and would be invisible until she turned him away.  It was all about her.  I thought he’d cum in his pants when she brushed against him, and I watched her hand brush against his erection with a smirk in my direction.  Whore.

There they are; they think that they are hidden from view they way that they’re greedily groping each other.  The Mayor’s wife and the librarian’s husband, who would’ve thought,  wanking one another off in full view of anyone with eyes. “Does he have it on him?” a low male voice mutters in my ear, startling me out of the morbid mental happy place that I was in and I feel the smile spread across my lips. The warm meaty hands on my ass make me want to vomit but I nod and shudder when those thick fingers graze the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.  I can’t do more than nod.

The cock that Rodney is so proud of is out for the night, twitching in the cool night air and I can hear the crackle of wrapper from here.  He shoves her to her knees and slips the rubber from the package and over his dick. “Keep quiet this time, Deena.  I didn’t get to finish last time,” Rodney growls and plows into her with a laugh. Last time. He bucks his hips into her and she moans loudly then squeaks when he falls against her in quickening paroxysmal convulsions. The man behind me chuckles and his large hocks squeeze my ass once more before moving away with a suggestion that I make myself scarce. What a chicken shit.

Rodney lies jittering on top of Deena,  his overly swollen glans trapping Deena as much as his dead weight does and she can do little more than pant shallowly when I step quickly into the light of the fire and again into the darkness of the commissary shadows where she writhes in the dirt. “Please?  Help me! I’m sorry.  Can’t be seen.  Here.  Like this,” and I laugh to myself at the tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. Her cupid bow lips fall open in shock and dismay when Rodney bucks and blows snot into her chestnut hair.  “Rodney! Dammit, get off of me!  What the fuck did you do to your dick? It hurts!”

“Shut up whore.  He didn’t get to finish last time, didn’t you hear?  How lucky for you that he gives a shit enough to tell you that you don’t matter.  Hear that?  You were so anxious to have him inside you that you blew him in public where anyone could see you.  I did.  Your moans need work by the way.  Not believable in the least.”  The first voices of the other attendees are getting louder and I titter darkly from around the corner, remembering to stay out of sight. Rodney gasps again, choking bile onto her shoulder and she sobs like a twelve-year-old with a rash.  He’s not dead. What a pity. He whined into my ear often enough about how he was trapped living with me.  Now he is truly trapped. by the pussy he couldn’t live without.   Perhaps he should have looked closer at the wrapper.   His are purple, latex free.

“Hey Deena,”  I chuckle as I spy the first flashes of lanterns headed this way, “I found this old video on the web.  Robin Bobbin? Original.” Closer still and I crouch closer to whisper “Soon everyone else will know what you are too. Virgin bride, my ass.”  Deena’s pretty eyes close in submission to fact and I dart from my safe place to spit into her pretty, filthy face,  and this time I kick her in the side of the head.

The first lantern bursts through the darkness just as I make my escape and the horrified shouts of the Mayor and his entourage reach my ears much like an applause track in one of those old sitcoms.  The next morning the paper from the towns in the surrounding areas will tell the tale of the Mayor’s not so virginal bride, the Mayor’s Right Hand Man and the Missing wife.  Such a small town scandal that won’t soon be forgotten.

As for me?  I was paid handsomely for my participation and one never knows what the next sunrise will bring.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan
Get Unrequited Reapings by Carolyn Graham today on Amazon
Get Unrequited Reapings by Carolyn Graham today on Amazon
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now

New Bones

Someone asked me what I feel,
And to my own fault I responded
The only way that I know how.
Only Haywire live wire seemed apt.
It makes no sense, perhaps,
To anyone but me
But that’s what it feels like.
It’s as though my bones have been replaced
And the new ones simply vibrate
Until my teeth rattle.
It’s oppressive and I’m trapped
By unseen eyes that observe
Every step, every breath
Someone is always there and it’s no comfort
Nor replacement for flesh and blood.
It’s uneasy the way the world is imploding
and the people are discussing politics
Issues of no consequence.
Leaves me to wonder what happens
What to those of us awake
When it ends.

©MelanieMcCurdie

dybbuk box

Maybe I do think Hell is full and maybe I know for a fact that devils roam among us. Maybe I found one. Maybe I know one; and maybe he laughs like sin is a flight of fancy while he watches from his solicitous shadows. Enticing, that daemon, he ignited a barely controlled passion that burned just below the surface. It’s not fair, the way he teased, the horns on his head hidden well from prying eyes, but not from me. Never from me.

I was caught tonight, trying to get drunk and failing. Pissed off and glowering over the half empty bottle, a devil snuck up behind me. What an unsuspecting meal I must have appeared, and he chuckled when I rounded, snarling with my teeth bared, Spite!!  “You sought out a devil and now you’re shocked that you found one,” a devilishly handsome man with brightly shining eyes stated, an unrecognisable expression on his face as he sat and pulled me into his lap.

A girl could have melted then, those perfectly evil lips that begged for a bite, Then it was my turn to laugh. And I did, not unkindly and with a certain hunger colouring the tone enough to widen his smile. With zero regret, I laughed again. “I am not shocked that I found a devil,” I murmured from my new place into the ear of his human suit; his need is a new pressure on my flesh, as is a burning touch across my thighs and on my waist. Smiling, my masque slips and the sharp intake of breath upon sight of dust underneath is soul food. “No, I’m not shocked to find a devil. I’m only surprised I trapped one so quickly.”

©MelanieMcCurdie

Storm

It’s something like a tornado

the way the universe tends to

turn. what’s a girl to do, one thinks

as she sprays her life with gaso/

line and lights a match just to watch

it’s birth; once, twice, thrice and again.

she does nothing more than giggle,

make popcorn and watch the world burn.

“clear skies ahead in the eyes

of the dead,” she sighs wiping

tears from her cheeks and i relate

because i know the struggle to

keep breathing. the creature creeping;

it’s not real, but it is. i don’t

comprehend how it is that they

cannot see the storm building, or

hear the thunders roar.  it never

stops to stupefy, boggle the

mind; bleating sleeping sheep in fear

afraid of a silly spirit.

watch the way they mill about

frantic when the winds begin to

whip chaos into a frenzy.

pray to the almighty absent

for sanctuary if it helps

i can’t grasp the concept of it

i don’t understand the way you prey.

©MMcCurdie

About beauty …

Beauty is a misnomer and used in the wrong context.

It should be used to describe objects that stun and awe, in appreciation of artistic effort and quality craftsmanship. In appreciation of Mother Nature’s innate talents, both wrathful and benign.

People are not beautiful; they are amazing and asinine, gorgeous and grotesque. Humanity is simply an enigma dressed a flesh-suit, and filled with an ennui that masquerades as happiness.

Beauty does not apply.

– In My Opinion

Plagued by a Promise

I remember the racket.

That noisy daemon behind the smile.

How could I forget?

Some say I fell in love

with you that day

and maybe they’re right.

Love as a brother,

the first truthsayer in my life.

My friend.

What resonates strongest, and

most often are those quiet

sober moments that weren’t

laugher and gaiety,

but factual and less than tactful.

The words, though, still stick.

“My dear, you’ll die.

Will you die on your terms

or conditions of someone else?”

The answer was then, on my terms.

The answer today remains the same.

I’d be lying to say there aren’t still  days

when I sit down to text you

about some stupidity

or a problem that only your

unedited POV can illuminate.

I get halfway through,

before I remember

that it’s useless,  that

it’s a message that you’ll never get.

I hate that, but I promised,

you motherfucker.

So you win again.

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

Crackles

Ye fecculant maggots
Such slithering horrors come to
Roil on the putrid shores
Where the polka-dotted crackles fly
Why, Hell is salty as lonely tears
This sandy reclamation serves no purpose
But to be agreeably macabre
Maid, she laughs, in chilling madness
Like a million bootfalls in unison
And it stings with flares on full alert
Inhale water and breathe fire,
She sings, and snickers
Knowing that it’s an egregious error
To giggle at death, unless you’re his girl

©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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