Poet Introduction I have been writing since the age of 10, and still feel the same powerful energy to create a story and to intrigue those who read my work. I write dark, surreal poetry and short stories. I also have several novel manuscripts in the works I hope to publish
I have withdrawn into myself where surrealism shines warmer than realism. With a sigh I tell you, that cut in the mirror before me, I met a man who wasn’t quite pieced together. So close, why do I continue to see myself as such? Oh, it’s so intoxicating to study a surrealist’s painting, as opposed to the dead, spiny tree that’s painted in reality. What an ugly thing reality is!
Self mutilations are so beautiful in the ballroom. The knife dances upon my skin. with only I as its partner - of course with a firm grip, I lead on. With crimson footprints following us. Now our dance has ended. Down the forearm to the wrist tears of joy run thick and red.
Your ominous, chilly winds cut me to the bare bone. Shaking like a leaf in the gales, a poignant reminder that I am of a few holding on like hell by a single root. This malady incurable, you’re judgments relentless. So, I sink wearily into myself.
Our Autumnal Years... Twas a noiseless evening, save for the plashing of rain against the panes. The air was choked with a summery mugginess as it fought the shivery breeze of the coming winter. Autumn was the buffer zone between the stifling of life and its inevitable wintry death. Now was the time to behold the orangy sunset of my life. As I recollect my Spring birthing and Summer, I do so with a smile and wet eyes. Now is the time to behold indeed! The lambent rays emitted from my precipitous visage still illuminate the world around in hues which electrify the senses of those who...