despair

For My Love

In the secret depths of despair
That’s where you’ll find my love

To wade past the coy lily pads
Knee deep in petals of pinks and lilac
Pushing aside creepers of lust
Avoiding the fluttering kisses of wings
That alight your skin
Sending tingles of promise
Of romance
Of lies

For you to swim
in the deep waters of my soul
Ignoring the skittering surface
Brushing away the algae
Diving down
Head first
Under the thick azure waters
To grasp at the kelp
On the floors of my heart

When you are strong enough
To part the jagged coral
Slip your fingers into the crevice
Of my blemished shell
And prise open the lips
To get to the pearl,
unbeknownst of its purity
Feeling your oxygen drain from your throat
Burning to reach the jewel
Which you only hope exists

Only when you can breath within despair
Will you know me, my love.

The slow tide of time

There lies a sadness
which lingers
Hovering over my heart
Hiding within my soul
And it haunts me
Both day and night

A cloud of stillness
Sitting on the face of time
Applying resistance to hands
Reaching out for the future

Seconds are dragged
Held hostage to the present
Minutes that trickle
Into stagnant hours
Flecked with fragments of gloom
Of despair

So I sit
And I wait
For the inevitable change
Which never ever comes

A glimpse into Darkside Thursday

It lay before him

The charred remains of a hollowed out corpse. He looked down in bewilderment, eyes wide and frantic and he turned to see the empty auditorium.
I watched him in the dim light, his face awash with confusion. I almost felt sorry for him as he sunk to his knees and placed his head in his hands……almost.

If I hold my breath and strain my ears I can just about hear the low sobs. The slow gulps of realisation catching in his throat, the raspy whisper of his voice repeatedly stating ‘what have I done, what have I done’. Like a mantra he repeats this to himself, rocking back and forth as if this will somehow force him to regain his memory. Clearly this is not going to work for him, I chuckle to myself as I push up the lever.
With a click and a whirring the spotlight hits the stage highlighting the mutilated corpse and forcing him to spring to his feet.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

His face drained of colour as he frantically looked around. Searching for an answer, searching for the spotlight’s operator…searching for me

—

Something for Darkside Thursday – To catch up with Andy’s latest darkside then click HERE

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 😉

Approaching Acheron

I am writing this because you are not
I’m writing because your tongue lays still,
at the side of your mouth
I am writing because you are gone
Shipped back to those lonely shores of time
Of mortality
Awaiting the boat to collect
Ready to press that coin deep into the palm of Charon
Eager to journey to the underworld
Explore the depths of her caverns
You bound towards the idle existence
Caught up in the notion of ease,
of diminished responsibility
no sense of care
Your desire to ride the ebb and flow of oblivion
To leave without valediction
And yet I still hope for your return
That my voice might still reach you
As I follow defiantly,
The ladder thick with flesh and bone

It only takes one moment

Icy droplets bounced off the window pane, she had lost everything that day. Darkness seeping into her room as the sky opened into another violent assault. Her tears echoed by the rain streaming down the glass, collecting in the wells of the broken ladder. There was no life without him.

Cycle of Contempt

The glossy pink, drips between the slow decay
Glistening in the light, translucent to the eye
A warmth, humming just beneath the surface
All the while creeping, gradually cracking
Rising to the surface in a multitude of disdain
It’s cascade of vitriol spewing from the mouth
of innocent fissures
Clambering, grasping, gulping for air
as the cool oblivion drones on.
Unaware,
Apathetic,
Empty
A barren slate on which to start anew
To scratch the hollows of tedium
Furrow the violence
And bury the coruscation
Once more.

Unfinished sentence

There is a cavern – which lies
Cold and dirty in raw eyes
Crammed full of agony
Swarming with a sadness
Wine leaking from irises
Droplets that travel
Creeping between lips
Salted, solitary, searching
For something

Something which once existed
Fair and innocent
Something that now lies
Battered and broken
At the bottom of a lake
Starved of oxygen
of care
Decaying organs of rot
Once dishevelled and abandoned
Then lost
Never to be found again

This is really how I wonder..

Crimson Placebo

The thin slice

Popping release

Crimson beauty

Rising to the surface

Unadulterated release

Hurt. Despondency.Rage

All coagulated together

A sticky exquisite streak

Glistening in candlelight

Warm cherry droplets

Falling to freedom

Bringing relief

Giving comfort

Inner peace.