Romance, who loves to write verses and songs,
With a drowsy head and restricted wings.
She is the light that pulls me to the surface
Before I drown in a shadowy lake.
To me her colorless hair and colorless eyes
Shine brighter to my spiritual gaze
Then the brightest star in the unquiet sky.
Romance! A true daughter of time
Who has preyed upon the poet’s heart
Which is otherwise driven by passion or tone.
But when the hour comes
And her wings are calm and free,
She’ll guide me away from this life of grief
And show the parts of this world I was too blind to see.
My dancing entangled heart,
The essence of need,
Does crave the call of your soul.
Shackled in chains of desire
Will you please, love, be my key?
The Morning Is Calm
The morning is calm
And a coldness lingers now
As summer dies out.
Soft light kisses the aged grass
As the world quietly wakes.
Samuel awoke in the blackness of night, nude, with his feet chained together and the blood all rushing to his head; his toes were already numb and colorless. His hands had also been chained over his dangling head. He opened his mouth as if to speak but a dirty rag gag stole his words as he stared into the shadow masked face of his captor.
“Hello Samuel. You remember me?” A female called with a voice falsely innocent, “Or have the other whores pushed the thought of me from your mind?”
The woman stepped into the paleness of an overhanging flood light. Her eyes painted blue, her hair black and pony tailed, a coldness in her green eyes and a soul riffled with pain. She was wearing a baggy black and gray striped shirt and tight black jeans.
“Carissa?” Samuel muttered from behind his gag,
“You’re shirts have always been so comfy on me.”
“Let me down you crazy bitch!” he muttered again.
Carissa smiled and laughed at the man’s poor struggle. She turned away, reaching into the shadows and slid a long and shining kitchen blade that glared in the gently swaying light.
She knelt down and slid the blade over Samuel’s cheek, opening a small spot of skin just beneath his eye. She watched as the blood and sweat fell from his brow and onto the concrete floor.
“Do you remember the time we first made love? I was a virgin you know. You have been my only.” Carissa said, “Do you remember that you said you would never say goodbye? That you would never hurt me?”
“Fuck you!” Samuel tried,
“Oh that was such a nice night Samuel, I thought nothing could ever be better than that. Then came tonight.”
She raised up and pushed his head back with her boot, sending him swinging from the rafters overhead.
Then she delivered a strong steel toed kick to his face, sending blood from his nose and mouth like a waterfall down his face. She knew she broke his nose at least, then she seen a tooth peek out from over the gag; a wave of wonder swallowed her.
She pulled two straws with tape on one end from her back jean pockets and stuck them to Samuel’s nostrils. He’d have to swallow down his blood and breath harder to push it out over the top of the straw.
“Oh Samuel. You never could just stick with one girl could you? All the other poor good girls before me. I guess I was dumb for thinking I could change you and so naïve to believe you had.”
She switched the knife to her right hand and reached the left into the darkness, pulled out a small plastic package and emptied the item within into her hand; a size eighteen gauge ear piercing she bought him for their two year anniversary.
“It’s green. Your favorite color.” she said with a stone face, “I’m crazy Samuel. You should have known that. A severe case of separation anxiety.”
She knelt down again and grabbed Samuel’s ear and shoved the tip of the blade into the right ear lobe. Samuel screamed as the blade opened the skin. A homemade chop shop styled piercing now lay in the remnants of the ear lobe.
Carissa stood up and rubbed the flat chest of Samuel and stopping to gently cross two bloodied left fingers over his heart, feeling it beat rapidly a final time, marking an X.
“You had my heart Samuel, I guess I never had yours. But now I will.” she whispered,
“No! No!” Samuel shrieked.
His pleading cries fell on deaf, blood thirsty ears as Carissa removed her fingers and swung her arm back into the shadows a final time, removing a drill, menacingly pressing the trigger and holding it just over his chest, easing it closer and closer to his heart. In a blood curdling scream she pulled her arm back again and into his chest went the spinning head of the drill.
A Sick Addiction
Sadness is a sick addiction
And loneliness is the needle I choose to stick into my veins.
They say the mind bends and twists in order to deal with the horror of reality…sometimes it just bends so much that it snaps in two.