Thorn

It's just a little pain,

small reminder

(guilty conscience)

not quite sin,

not quite love,

not quite anything

told in books.

Unreal.

Try to look too closely

and it might disappear,

always to return

(nothing ever goes away)

almost true

stuck like glue,

stuck to you

and me.

Pluck it out:
an easy wish to make,

harder to do,
because this thorn that

pricks my memory,

stabs my veins,

and lives under my skin,

I also cherish

to my core.

These slivers of attachment
are not the enemy;

the nemesis lies within
my fickle heart.

This was written for Sunday Scribblings 2

Gaol

They tried to build a jail for me,

but instead, I built my own

with walls of futile wishes,

crazy dreams,

and childhood fears:

hard as diamonds

tough as nails.

No need for stone and steel

when secrets will do. 

Here I'm safe from 
shadows and sunshine,

strangers and fairy tales.
Inside these walls I'm safe 

from me

and you.

But though I make my gaol

and imprison myself inside,

I am no martyr.

Prophets may forecast my fate

and seers speak my doom,

yet here there is no jailer

and in my pocket is a key.

So still your mocking laughter

and be not proud,

for I have seen the place you dwell.
You are locked up, too.

 This was written for The Sunday Whirl.

Crasher

I tossed you out

but you got in again

(somehow)
skulking

sneaking

slipping

through the cracks

and in between

the interstitial spaces

of my brain,

insinuating

yourself

into my soul. 

An unwelcome guest

(discarded fantasy)

no more substance than

vapor

air

or smoke,

but you asphyxiate me

just as surely

as if

you were real.

This was written for Sunday Scribblings 2

New Flash Fiction

I have posted a new Steal Tomorrow story: Madame Midnight