Only Better


You have stolen every thread

Of my sanctimonious cocoon


Too much blood and incense

Sacrifices made on good faith

Arrest the heart


My prayers

Are based on abstractions

Invasive appeals

That stagger on admission


I want to be myself

Only better

I’ve acknowledged my faults

I’d like to collect now

On my virtues


In a world where all wealth is quantifiable

Is my soul worth the burden imposed?


I watch your lips wrestling with the tides

Arms thrashing in indelible terror


Survival is adverse to life

It requires a stoicism achieved

Only by the meticulous placement

Of eyelids across the field of vision


I don’t ask for much

Only to be so beautiful

That my presence ordains

Instantaneous merit


I don’t want to fight for every inch

Only to realize I’ve fallen by the wayside


I want to be adored

In a way that crushes bones

And exhumes hearts

Previously thought dead


Behold a necromancer is in our midst

Sentiment cannot be revoked

You loved me once and it’s to that vow

That I attach all my subsequent years


Another poem from the swarming gelatinous monstrosity that is my subconscious mind


Prompt 35 Holiday Stories


I was a little uncertain if I should do a prompt with the holidays in full swing but I decided to go for it! This prompt comes to you curtsey of Morpethroad. This week you many find yourself reminiscing about holidays past. Maybe you’re spending the holidays with family and friends who are chalk full of wonderful embarrassing stories about you. Maybe you find yourself nostalgic while elbow deep in a box of festive decorations.  Maybe you find yourself feeling homesick while trying to replicate traditional family dishes. Maybe you find yourself laughing at old photographs and/or videos. This week I invite you to share a story about holidays past.  I say story but of course poems, artwork, cards, music, photos and all other forms of media are welcome.

Happy Holidays everyone!


x2-simon-siwakArt By: Simon Siwalk

Chimney smoke

And arctic currents

Synthesize obsidian

My days are black

And superficial

Too many veils

Have blinded

My sense

Of responsibility


The ego

Is my greatest

Magic trick

An interloper

Who stands outside

Of its manifestations

An impetus whose

Undercurrent swallows

The very surface

On which it stands


I am a virtuoso

Of nothing

The ammunition

For a weapon

Centuries before its time

The final sacrifice

In a string

Of incomprehensible scars


As you know I’ve had a lot of seizures, today as well. So this poem comes to your curtsey my subconscious.  My mind is like a big black oozing void and my hands just blindly type

3 Little Love Poems




By the same force

That incites migration

In Arctic Terns

We nest our bones



In the consummation

Of love


We create within

A passage

That the other

May never want

For warmth


Your heart hangs above

Like a laboring moon

She is generous

With her expectations

But always forgiving


(night full of seizures almost went to the emergency room not sure how available or coherent I’ll be)

To Be Loved


Ruined in the act

Of a misplaced martyrdom

My spine collapses

Beneath rhapsodic applause

Like a wooden tower


To be loved

To be loved


My heart is deaf

She cannot hear

Vacancy calling

I bury myself

Halfway down

The great hibernation

Is upon us

The void of

An unaccountable mourning

Months of delirium and tears

Too shapeless to gather


To be loved

To be loved


I’ve suffered enough

To furnish a war

Its requisite pathos

I was a goddess once

The kind that appears

Exclusively to one

Despite a subsequent loss

Of following

Without you

She no longer exists

Which is to say “I” have

Nothing exceptional

Now to offer

You created a fortune

Of rusted pennies


To be loved

To be loved


I would give anything

To feel that way again


This is a fictional piece about the loss of one’s first love which I’ve written for the prompt



Fever for 2 weeks, the last 2 days it has been high I am so out of it



I seek validation

In the anonymous

In the cursory embrace

Of a society

Who by its very design

Parries distinction


What right have I

To speak of instinct

When I force

My prophetic bones

Into the sleeves

Of a disingenuous mold?


What right have I

To speak when my words,


In a communal maw,

Lack the integrity

To illicit change?

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Half Empty (Audio)




Fragile and wound

Like a wicker basket

I harvest shame

By the earfuls

You on the other hand

Are half empty


I cannot even begin

To understand you

Beyond the confines

Of your former lovers

Who speak through you

As if a mannequin

Only they never bother

To alter their voices enough

To confirm their existence


Deluded by the grandeur

Of my heightened expectations

Infatuation flaunts

An unseemly neurosis

I assemble the flavors

Of your primary palate

In an effort to slide

Inside unchallenged

But sensing my intentions

You’ve removed

Your left ring finger

That nothing enduring

Should come to pass


Perhaps I will never know

Your hands in proximity

Absolving my loneliness

Or the sound of your voice

Shuddering under the ballast

Of genuine correspondence

Perhaps I will never know

Any love at all

Having none to spare myself

But there is always the dream


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I swallow the lightning

Of an alien skyline

The hiss

Of unaffiliated tongues


The confetti tears

That smite on admission

I do not want to become

A tragedy unto myself

A shy suicide detonating

Under the gaze

Of an adroit firebrand

My identity is too fragile

To decipher

Without assimilation


Today has been very stressful. Sam has been seriously ill for the last 2 days. Turns out he was allergic to the Christmas tree. Isadora is absolutely devastated about the tree now that we’ve taken it out (were going to give it away). We plan to get a plastic one tomorrow but it doesn’t comfort her much in the meantime. I haven’t had more than 5 minutes of quiet time today, I actually wrote this on a crowded tram on the way to the mall to do some Christmas shopping so forgive me if its gibberish.





These parcels

From the heart

Transcend embodiment

The voice of reason

They are mirages

Beyond place and time

Inverted reflections

Of faculty

For which no

Impartial translations exist


In the depths

Of my unconscious mind

Darkness knows no precinct

But nightmares do not disparage

They are a lustrative inkstone

Mitigating horror

Through expression

Ambrosia for the muse


I would stray indefinitely

In these metanoic visions

Creating maelstroms

From subterfuge

A brilliant oasis

The thrill of exotic idols

In my dreams I can be anyone

Unbound by convention

For once, a paragon of beauty

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Prompt 34 “My first…”

02_The_Falling_Leafs_Girl_by_pesareThis is week’s prompt is about firsts!

Some suggestion to ponder

First crush

First kiss

First job

First car

First poem or story you’ve ever written

First publication

First dance recital

You get the idea.  You can also do a fictional piece (first kill, first transformation as a werewolf, first trip to another planet etc. etc.)