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
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...
In the end there is only dust of a once perfect form. Molded I was in imperfection! The spirit within this mold has bleed out through the cracks of this fractured body. Sanity lingers in puddles. Here I'm left hollow. Screams of insanity echo within. Maybe now is the time. The time to let go. The quality of life just isn't there. I'm done.
Dear psychosis, I know you can hear me, as I can hear you all the same. You've crept into my ears for most of my life now.I believe it's time for you to hear me. Delusional I must be to take you for a physical form, writing to you. I just want it all to end. I want to make the best out of a raw deal that I have been given in life. They say life is a gift, for me it's a session of torture, as if I'm serving a sentence in Hell. Breathing scorching air into my lungs you do, screaming in my ears. Damn you! This life was suppose to be mine! Not yours!