She grabbed her debit card and slipped it into the pocket of her blue jeans. It was Halloween night and it had been hours since she had had any trick or treaters stopping for candy. She drew the last cigarette from the box, slipped it between her lips and lighted it. It wouldn't be an easy night with no cigarettes, so she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to go out for another pack. The convenience store was just around the corner from her apartment and she knew she could go and be back i n no time at all. She grabbed her keys, undid the deadbolt on the door and...
Four lane highway Four tangents for my mind to go off at Cruel ambivalence Cruel certainty
Solitude and high speed ... When investigating evil Seeing beyond ... and ... * the beyond *
Highway next to the precipice So recurring and invisible Although the abyss only lasts a sigh The vile can never live an alien life ... Nor my survival Evil is a pareidolia ... I look into her eyes... ... I need to believe that she exists
Corner pocket of the eye That’s where he keeps it undertones, unturned stones Leave it alones Right there it sits Just lapping around Pools of potholes, ridicules, Truths untold Baked into the batter of crows feet Too much salt not enough sugar But it don’t matter He won’t speak About what he keeps In the corner pocket of his eyes
Open the window blinds, and let the light peak in from time to time The so curious eye that owns the sky will shine too bright to even be seen Will I let your radiant rays come to invade and reign over my own personal space? If that’s the case, will I then feel your peace? Will I then be truly free?
I am just a dweller by the Ash tree With limbs so high the curious eye of the sky cannot see A sacred bridge between mortality and the world of deities I want your warmth, I want your life, I want your love, and I want your peace, I want the soft,...
The sky darkens when the bus gets closer to the coast and the temperature drops for May, reminding me of swooping seagulls and sand blowing about in the wind, the grits getting into my eyes.
A large sign reads: Lyme House, 1 Mile. The driver takes a left, away from the road to the House.
Lyme House, where I first met her. A mile inland, tucked away in a private driveway hidden by trees and hedges. Mostly rich kids attended, but I got there on a scholarship, meals provided. From the start, I couldn’t understand why our hosts had chosen such a dismal town when they’d...