I'm working crazy hours, lots of overtime, and possibly getting an assistant manager position (fingers crossed)!
I'll post when I have more time.


SuspensionI'm standing where sky meets earth, dancing with fallen stars side stepping in bowler shoes and cowboy boots Each time at nights end I slur and stumble away Closing my eyes I see mother Mary and her children, all at prayer.Suspension
I know this is as close to heaven as I'll ever get.
I choose the backseat, the same seat as last night, and many nights before. There is silence in the backseat. The draft from the open sunroof burns my already guilty cheeks. Unable to hold my own weight, I'm tossed side to front to side to back b


HandsHands are sensitive objects, you can clasp them in gratitude, clench them in fear, You can hang on tight and never let go, and you can coldly pull away and put them in your pockets.Hands
Small hands of a child are perfect, Rough hands of a construction worker, and stained ones of a mechanic, show skill and a desire to be needed.
Different hands held together can show a new love, or a very, very, old one. Hands around back


You're stranger to me than...Hey hun, he said, plopping down into the grey vinyl seat beside her, don't use the second bathroom, it's like a shit bomb exploded in there.You're stranger to me than...
Okay she replied, and leaned her back into the window trying to give him some elbow room.
I wish he wouldn't be so vulgar she thought to herself, mom would never say anything about it, but she'd hold it against him, and me...for choosing such a poorly mannered person. Please, God, let him not embarrass me the first time he meets them. She assumed, no, knew that prayers like this usually fell on deaf ea
Wolf

theme eleven - memoryi. you are the sum of seven hundred andtheme eleven - memory
forty-seven under-the-skin scars one for every day i have known you plus extras on your fantastic days
ii. you snack on midnight feasts of all the details i wanted to keep; im losing the pattern of freckles on your back and the rhythm of your tongue
iii. i am still tied to you by the way your baby-powder scent haunts me; if i
sit on my hands long enough they almost feel
like yours when dragged across my face
iv. thinking of you makes my joints creak and


EveThey said EveEve
ate a pomegranate.
My fingers bleed
from the places the knife slipped, lost its grip along the tough skin of fruit. I have fought against the fleshy armor, plunging
deep, penetrating nothing.
These seeds are not
mine to know.
How she must have
struggled, ripping and tearing
in lustful fury, chunks of crimson
pulling up under her nails, digging
into the white womb until it split. How the fruit must have
spilled, little living catacombs bursting
forth, rotten at the center, maggots writhing out
by £deviantWEAR
Thanks again,
Red
--
'Cause when it's in your hands, it's a cigarette.
best wishes
Sam.
--
The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears blot out a Word of it.
--
In this cold world there's warmth somewhere
It's at the cross, the cross alone
i do hope you have a chance to take a look around my gallery and read some of my works
--
my boy builds coffins
--
Be inspired: *simplyprose and *simplypoetry.
Unhappy with our comments? Click here, and scroll down to see our complaints procedure.
--
Be inspired: *simplypoetry and *simplyprose.
--
there were no good old days.
--
In this cold world there's warmth somewhere
It's at the cross, the cross alone
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