Posted in Poetic Driblets

Pulling At A Rose


I’m so nervous it scares me

I don’t usually get like this. 

My hands are literally shaking

But I just blame it on the cold.

I’ve had moments like this before

But then again it wasn’t ever this way.

I wonder if it’s just on my side or maybe 

Maybe she’s going through the same thing 

Worried about simple shit.

Infected with pessimistic creations of an over active imagination.

Wish there was a light that would just switch on when it was honesty.

I know what she said, I heard it clear as day.

She loves me like the moon loves the night.

Caressing it and revealing it’s beauty but not stealing the light.

But yet thoughts stride in all directions through my mind.

I’ve been here before and I easily believed.

My hands hold this withered rose

Pulling off petal after petal torturing myself 

She loves me, she loves me not.


Posted in Random Pieces Of Writing

Cautionary Tale

Genre: Flash Fiction

The cautionary tale was told to all those who would listen. The ladder by the lake was no place for children! Even the grown were told not to dare go there. The ladder went deep underground and rose up literally into the heavens. Those that climbed it high into the sky when never seen again and those that climbed down into the depths of the earth would later be found floating in rivers lifeless and shriveled. But as with all worthy advice the cautionary tale was ignored by some. Those who simply didn’t care or those who fell victim to curiosity. There was a young bird who dared to venture here. You must understand even in the animal kingdom the warnings were stern. But he went there and stood right on the warning sign, looking above and below. He feared going into the darkness underground and he knew his kind couldn’t swim. So he flew and landed on the ladder in order to climb. Don’t ask me why he didn’t just fly and follow the ladder into the sky. The air around the well wasn’t the most conducive to common sense. So he landed and began to climb but after a while, tired and sweating he couldn’t stop. He kept going on and on. Night and day weaved together. He climbed non stop all the same. Try as he might to fly away the spirit of the ladder in the well holds him in place.

-The End

Posted in Poetic Driblets


Sing a song 

As with darkness

You embrace

Watching the sun

Slowly fade away

The stars time

They need darkness 

For them to shine

Lonely thoughts

In the moonlights face

Pain deep

Hungry passion

Screams to the heavens




Let me not

Be forgotten

A piece of me


In the daytime 

As I disappear 

With the night.


Posted in Poetic Driblets

No Name

A girl with no name.

A new yet to be discovered 

Flavour after my own heart.

Breaking out from beneath me.

Under my own skin.

Tempted and invited to just touch it. 

But is it the work of the imagination? 

Creating rivers of chocolate 

When it’s simply water filled with brown dirt. 

Yet I look at it and think again. 

My tongue waters and my taste buds strain. 

I burn with desire. 

My inhibitions are lifted. 

A girl with no name

Unlocking doors deeply hidden.

Doors revealing my unwritten desires.


Posted in Random Pieces Of Writing

A Dash For Dear Life

Genre: Flash Fiction 


We hear that all too familiar loud purr and in an instant it’s a race against time. A race to get dressed. A race to fit in through whatever exit. A race to escape. Out of breath and in panic, I’m running for my life. No looking back as if I’ll turn into a pillar of salt. The air feels thin and it’s suddenly hot, I’m sweating even through my ears. My feet are barely touching the ground. I know this is not a situation foreign to many. For I’m running because what we heard was the purr of an engine. Her father was back home. Before we had even fully taken off our clothes. Now I just see all eyes on me and the awkward bulge between my legs.

-The End

Posted in Poetic Driblets

Voice From Beyond 

Below ground but somehow by someway I still breathe

I breathe but I wouldn’t call it still being alive.

This is some sort of hell maybe, 

Maybe the ones who get the fire are actually lucky.

And the rest have to live with the scent of soil on rainy day.

But in just darkness and with nothing else.

Imprisoned underground and in a wooden box.

Which I discover is much too comfortable for those who’ve departed.

Maybe it’s just a luxury afforded for the mental torture to come.

I swear I hear footsteps above me at times.

It forces me to try and scream but any noise I make barely breaks into the air.

Then I hear them talk about me 

Bluntly as if in total disrespect that their even at my grave.

Or they don’t care that I still hear them.

They say it was death by a heart attack but I know it wasn’t that.

It was simply a broken heart that leaked out all the love that it had.

Maybe that’s why I’m still here not somewhere else instead.

Move on inside and I might move on from here.


Posted in Poetic Driblets


Time is the only thing 

I wish more than anything

Could be mine

So that maybe

I could turn it back

Or move it forward 

Whichever way would 

Take me to my dreams 

And a place of smiles