Cursed is he who hangs from a tree.
But what of she? She who had enough of her lover. She who had enough of he. She, prone to the madness of the moon. She, with gunpowder and will The will to be free - one way or the other. Rough and ready The snuff of light The thumping of the floorboards And my the Lord now have mercy on her soul.
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Dank,
Dirty, Seedy back rooms You follow after a look that lasts a little too long - your cue to drop the coin in the slot, tune in, drop out. Head back, eyes closed, back to when you were young and free and beautiful. Back to when the dream seemed attainable and you still believed in chance. You gave it your all. You really did, my friend.
You let yourself open the door to the outside and look what dragged in. That one that made you believe in things you knew better than to believe. And one day you wake up and you realize that the ones you trusted, the ones you gave your heart, the ones to which you exposed your true self, were simply the takers all the while. They took until you were nearly cracked and with their skulduggerous deeds and lies on their lips carefully parted blowing smoke up your shiny, hopeless ass. The rain whispered as I made my way.
People running for shelter as I wandered. No one saw me though I walked among them. Every drop a baptism into this life from the one where you existed. And as I meander, my skin gets colder And the warmth of your final touch is carried away by the wind. And I witnessed an aphotic sky
Stars plunging - or was it evading? The wake of a white, wild demon of a steed ferrying an ornate, golden berth. Its sinister coachman cackling as the cavalcade stays its course - A continuous convolution. This is damnation. He stood, cold and damp on a mid-summer's eve. Sadly striped shirt, worn shorts too big for his frame, brother's boots covering threadbare socks. That classic little boy haircut just covering his ears. His backpack carried ten dollars and a peanut butter sandwich. Clinging to his teddy as the taillights become smaller. Litter on a desolate road...
He drops his head and shuffles into darkness. By Audrie Bretl Roelf
I want to be your dirty, little secret. I want to be your biggest mistake turned your greatest achievement. I want to inspire you to reach new heights while the world adores your bravado. I want to be the one to tear you down and resurrect something grander in place. I want to be your safety, your shelter, your source of pleasure, your greatest pain. I would leave it all and jump
if you gave me the nod; Eyes closed to what's before me Shaking off what lies behind. Every mistake made, Every judgement call - Background noise - The crackle of the ice As I follow behind the curtain to the silence of a fresh snowfall the stillness of midnight To catch a glimpse Of what I've only assembled from the pebbles, scraps of paper, and cardboard of my mind. Crisp leaves falling were her heels clicking down the sidewalk.
Clean air was the smell of her hair as she stepped from the shower. Laughter of the children echoed hers on the day they met. Now he stood in the window wondering where she'd gone. Watching neighbors come and go, enjoying the seasonal change. The season she loved. The season in which he loved her. The season of death and dying And second chances. I feel you
When my mind is quiet Body taxed by the day Lying still The tears come and I feel you. Connected by heart, Connected by mind, Connected by universe. My being calls to you. I pray you hear. |
AuthorAudrie is a writer and editor living in Illinois. She is a fan of all things horror and pop culture. Archives
February 2021
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