Excerpt

To be a real writer

A real writer bleeds onto the page.

That’s what they said.

A real writer forces jagged fingernails into their chest and tears out their bloody heart still beating so the page can be splattered in crimson glory. To take that ugly bleeding heart and smear it across the pristine sheet until words are formed from the blotting patches of blood. Swirling in the mind of the fevered artist and covered thick with their lifeblood.. their entire soul .

Only when you have given yourself over to the desire, to the need, to the pain can you fully understand the expectations of one so wretched. Hoping that one day these smears and blotches will mean something. Wishing that one day someone will come along with eyes filled with wonder, lift the piece and exclaim in awe. To gush at the richness of the imagery, gasp at the raw emotion on show and most of all understand how hard it is for one so private to allow a heart out of its cage, enough to scar a notepad with such force.

Only then shall I feel like a writer.

How to cure manflu – Part 2

Step one – Assess the patient

If still and quiet,

tucked up in bed

Kneel beside him

Feel his forehead

If snuffling and sneezing

Shivering with sweat

Prepare for the evening

In your kitchenette

Make the soup

(See part 1)

But if you come home

Find your man on the couch

Snuggled in blankets

Being a grouch

When you ask how he feels

He tells you he’s dying

Whimpering and wailing

Wants Vicks rub applying

Now for the decision

This is really  Manflu

Are you wanting to cook

Or consider step two

Step two – Assemble miracle cure

Take two black stockings

Stretched up to thighs

One khol black liner

Apply to eyes

Paint your lips

To ruby red

Balance a nurse cap

On your head

Fasten tight

Your push up bra

Slip on high heels

It’s not that far

Dab self with scent

Pull on lace thong

Zip up nurse dress

You can’t go wrong

Then over patient

You must lean

To show him how

Things could have been

If he were well

Then out the blue

You find he doesn’t

Have manflu

Salmon pink sunrise

‘Hush now’

He reached over and gently pressed his forefinger to her lips, his other hand curling softly around the back of her neck. Taken aback with the gesture she playfully bit his fingertip and watched as his mouth broke into a grin.

This was the moment…

The sound of the waves crashing against the pebbles, the salty taste in the moonlit air, the cool breeze whipping at their clothes. This was the moment she had chosen to change the conversation, to try and cover over that awkward moment. Yet with one gesture he had changed all of that and now they stood, just two people, locked in the moment before downfall or rapture.

Looking up at him she decided he was worth the gamble and she took that moment to lightly kiss his finger still held close to her lips. He pulled back slightly yet she took his fingertip into her mouth all the same. Licking the tip and circling it with her tongue tasting the sea air as she did so. He stood unsure and hesitant but let his other hand move softly into her hair, allowing her to suck his fingertips one by one. Her mouth was warm and moist, a contrast for his skin against the cool air. Her tongue traced the outline of his hand and made him tingle as she pressed her lips against his palm. Then taking his thumb into her mouth, her teeth softly grazing him, he felt himself respond.
His thumb and forefinger lightly clasped her bottom jaw and tilted her head up to look at him. Then leaning towards her, he moved his hand to her cheek and planted a firm dry kiss on her lips. Smiling she kissed him back, a gentle peck and then ran the tip of her tongue over his chapped lips.
He tasted of salt and sweetness, the sea air had seen to that. Yet his kiss was the perfect blend of hesitation and desire, that mix of chemistry usually reserved for teenage trysts. She pulled him closer and kissed him again, both trying to pin point a rhythm to relax into.
She loved the fact that he used his hands to smooth her unruly hair away from her face. He held her face tilted between his hands and kissed her, allowing himself to press tightly against her body. Wrapping her arms around his torso she was glad of the warmth. The chill air had started to get through and she could feel her nipples shifting against her underwear, although she wasn’t sure how much the weather was really to blame. He felt her shiver against him.

“would you like to turn back”

He gestured to the building with its warm glowing lights and creature comforts calling but she shook her head.

‘I’m happy here if you are’

He didn’t reply yet slid his arms around her and pulled her tight into him. His body was warm to the touch and she smiled and let out a contented murmur. They stood locked for a short while, until her body responded to his heat, then she snaked her hands over him. Tracing the curve of his back and then smoothing over his chest and stomach. His breathing changed in its pace, his heart quickened as her hands brushed over his hardened nipples and he felt himself grow under her touch.
Pressing against him she could feel the outline of his erection and brushed her hand against him. He flinched back surprised at first, then regained confidence and allowed her to stroke him lightly. Her touch followed the grain of his jeans which were proving to be a snug fit with his thickening cock. She looked up to see if he would stop her, as she slipped her hand down into the top of his jeans. His eyes were narrowed and his body proved accepting as she did so. His growing erection lurched forward under her touch and her fingertips brushed the tip of his head. Her cold hands might have been a shock to him, yet he didn’t pull away. Allowing himself to be unzipped and letting her slip a hand inside his jeans. Stroking the thin material, she moved the flat palm of her hand over him. His hard cock straining against his shorts, as she opened the buttons and placed her hand inside. He was warm to the touch and shrank back slightly against the intrusion of her cold fingers.
He kissed her again, his mouth hard on hers, her nipples now visible through the outline of her clothes. Using the back of his hand he glided over her skin, from face to neck, over her exposed cleavage and landing firm upon her breast. A gentle squeeze caused her to let out a low murmur and she responded by curling tighter around his erection.
He allowed her to caress him, trying to negate the worry of being in public against the enjoyment of her touch. She was trouble yet he was having a hard time resisting. He felt her hips press against him, her breast pushing against his palm and he gave way.
The two of them crumpled to a heap on the damp pebbles, he held her tight as they kissed. She savoured the taste of his tongue, darting passionately between her dry lips, inviting her own tongue to tango. And for a time they were lost in each other’s embrace, clawing at each other’s clothes, licking salt tinged skin, kissing until their lips were raw in the cool air. All the while neither of them noticing the soft trickle of sea water creeping through the stones, the slow fading away of the stars. Their blanket of night sky finally uncovering the cold facts of day.

“we should go back”

He could see she was shivering in her damped clothes.

“But sunrise is the best time of the day”

She nuzzled close into his chest waiting for the rebuttal, yet instead he placed his arms around her.
They watched in contented silence as the salmon pink sky devoured the morning.

WIP – First Class Overspill

They sit and snigger
Like infants on a fair ride
Clasping greasy brown bags
In their manicured hands
The smell of fat and fries
Wafting down the public car
Following the notes of their laughter
Filling the quiet zone
They should know better
These adults dressed up as men
With Gucci suits
And polished leather shoes
When standing
They wobble
And sway
Until one of them topples
Creating a burst of taunting

This was a part of something I wrote during an uncomfortable train journey, – Still some more to work on though

An affliction of prose

Tearing into the pliable flesh for the first time was exhilarating, the freeing of a caged animal. She took the blade and took another slice, slow, hard, deliberate. No pain until the blood rose to the top of the skin and then the brain’s realisation kicked in and sent a twinge of pain. A tweaking, nagging sultry throbbing that sat just under the sticky substance. She stared at it glistening in the candlelight and tried to question her actions, question her reasoning yet she could not explain she merely knew that the crying had stopped. Instead of tears there lingered a stillness, a release of hurt and pain into something beautiful .. serene. Instinctively she lifted her arm to lick the blood from her being and tasted the sweetness in her mouth that calmed her last few sobs. She watched in wonder as the clean slit of skin refilled with a scarlet trace of angst as her lungs inhaled deeply. The scent of the oil burner filtered through her senses, invading her nostrils, her mouth and she sucked the scent into herself and exhaled. As she sat on the floor with her back pressed to the door she felt a peace that she had not felt in a very long time, maybe not ever. The simple act had managed to encompass the guilt, the hurt, the anger and transform it into a liquid serenity. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve she looked at the floor strewn with used tissues and felt her eyes tired from the lamentation. The mirror propped against the wall reflected the candle burning which had darkened the room yet only helped to highlight the redness in her eyes. She sat watching the flicker of the light for a short while until a soft rapping at the door alerted her that there was still life outside her room.

Some writing pulled out and shared on inspiration from Lori over at Rattling Bones

Go read her post – HERE – It’s a good reminder of how we shouldn’t assume 😉

A shower of words

The first burst of water hit her skin in a violent assault, cold enough to almost throw her off balance. She reached out quickly to turn up the heat and breathed a deep sigh as the warm water crept over her shoulders and down her back. Loading up the shower puff with cherry scented gel she began to scrub away the worries of the day.
She reached up to run her hands through her hair, helping the water to find its way through to her scalp and help her relax. Tilting her head to one side, she let out a gasp as the water danced across her neck causing her nipples to stiffen slightly. Then reaching for more shower gel she smeared it over her arms and chest, working up a lather until her top half was covered in soapy suds. Enjoying her own silken touch gliding over her skin and smoothing the bubbles southwards. Closing her eyes as she leaned back into the water allowing the scented foam to soak her entirety.

Ramble of consciousness

Have you ever been lost?

Not lost as in geographically, not lost in a place, not physically lost….just lost.

Someplace that your mind takes you into a world of confusion, of disappointment of fear even. Lost in a time and space that you  feel is not your own, not viable for what you need, and you are alone.
So alone and you can’t pin point why, or how or when you ever reached this point…you only know that you got here..

somehow.

And that now you can’t leave.

You might not actually be alone, you might not be scared, maybe you have come to accept the little hollow that is your own, come to terms with despondency, the lack of enthusiasm, lack of care. You might have just found yourself trekking along the path of least resistance, happily humming the solo theme tune. You might well even be humming it whilst walking alongside someone, but they are not really with you, you are not really there,

You are but a shell of something you once were, and could be. A dim light in a sea of shimmering morsels ready to be plucked one by one, ready for the taking. Yet you amble on, happy to breathe, happy to survive as long as you don’t have to feel. The numbness that courses through your veins anesthetising your soul and caging your desires, your passion, your worth.
Every now and then you might feel a peck, a small glimmer of being that gives you hope, makes you feel alive and ready to tear down the walls. Yet all too soon you are packed up again and ready to retract. To shut the doors on the world and carry on smiling that fake smile because that is what gets you through…that is the you that they adore.

The only one that they accept.

My beautiful picture