Sometimes I forget how to feel

Published in the 2017 Blue Fringe Arts 25th Anniversary Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue fringe arts 2017 25th Anniversary short story and poetry anthologySometimes I forget how to feel

Sometimes I forget how to feel. And a hand lingers in front of my face as I envision every muscle movement. Fingers dancing and curling in slowly as they will against my thoughts. And as I picture my synapses firing in every direction, I wonder if some thought, some meaning, will birth from my focus. Then I become aware just how hard it is to keep my fingers straight; they keep curling in.

My own body fails me, betrays me, and denies me power over it.

So, you see, I forget how to feel because sometimes I don’t know how to feel, how I should feel. But, do these thoughts emerge from myself?

I wait with bated breath for an answer to come and save me from whatever has provoked my anxiety this time. And again wait for something to stifle it once more.

If I can only focus on my hand, and allay all other thoughts, let them melt away, feel the skin peel away, until I am left with the cold, mechanical form of being, and realise that’s what I am, nothing more, and that I must afford myself significance, not await it, I think I can finally be free of myself, of my dread of needing validation, justification, for my own existence and happiness.

blue fringe arts 2017 25th Anniversary short story and poetry anthology

Advertisements

The kiss, a caress, of happiness for a while

Published in the 2017 Blue Fringe Arts 25th Anniversary Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue fringe arts 2017 25th Anniversary short story and poetry anthologyThe kiss, a caress, of happiness for a while

Sometimes, when at first light
a euphoria seizes
and it pleases, if only
it would last until the night.

For I remember the smile
and therein a moment’s bliss
then the kiss, a caress,
of happiness for a while.

My fingers tremble, wrestle
for the light, draws into wane
and the laughter drains; the malady
of an empty vessel.

Like my heart, which flutters,
I reach for my own resolve.
And yet, behold, nothingness
I am left to utter:

“Where is the light stolen away?
Why do I feel, when it darkens
and hearkens but a breath
every damned day?”

Yet, striating through my flesh
the reminder, I am alive.
And naught deprived, for it still
flutters beneath my breast…

the kiss, a caress,
of happiness for a while.

blue fringe arts 2017 25th Anniversary short story and poetry anthology

An Ode to Bipolar

Published in the 2016 Blue Fringe Arts Short Story and Poetry Anthology: Speak Out
Blue Fringe Arts 2016 Short Story and Poetry Anthology Speak Out

An Ode to Bipolar

Into sadness,
a sometimes forgotten spell.
Feverish, fetish, devouring all.
Yet when deprived,
a fondness; so yearning
and lachrymose.
Of tears, weeping
the flower
of being.
And necromancy,
an embrace;
a plea for answers,
but soft and deafening
the shadowed face.

Perpetual madness,
a labyrinth of decaying
thought and nameless love,
where spectres dance, and ravage,
and sentence the mind
to answer.
Damnation.
Doom.

But the hummingbird,
the sublime,
the beauty within.
Does it linger? Why does it so?
The love foretold,
and wisteria singing.
Creepers entangling,
strangling no more.
And leaden drops no longer
fill the lands with despair.

© 2016

Want to read more of my Blue Fringe Arts works?
Click here

The Devil’s Anvil

Published in the 2015 Blue Fringe Arts Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue-fringe-arts2-001

The Devil’s Anvil

When winter’s night dances
but forlorn and forgotten memories
prey.
Of darkness, bitter
and madness, stained.
The mind bereft of laughter
and happiness pulled into that
Void.
Waning, yet caressing thoughts
that one desires and loathes the
Same.
The disease crawling through
and cawing into the raven-black
Sky.
Beckoning and begging to play.
It burns in embers
but never fades away.

© 2015

Want to read more of my Blue Fringe Arts works?
Click here

Beautiful, beautiful!

Published in the 2015 Blue Fringe Arts Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue-fringe-arts2-001

Beautiful, beautiful!

Beautiful, beautiful!
earth so beautiful.
To find everlasting peace.
And insufferable life? Begone it all
to see me smile at my funeral.

But no end to torture, no.
So I sink down below
to Hell’s sweet icy embrace
relishing forever rain, forever snow.
My heart frozen, but cheeks aglow.

© 2015

Want to read more of my Blue Fringe Arts works?
Click here

The Final Sin

Published in the 2015 Blue Fringe Arts Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue-fringe-arts2-001

The Final Sin

Her eyes were a deep obsidian hue, set on a ghostly ivory face, and framed by soft alabaster tresses. And from those luscious curls protruded two impressive horns, spiralled like a faun’s. So sublime, they sat atop her crown. Brilliant of chestnut, ecru, bronze, and fallow. The colours, striated; weaving in and out of each other, as veins surging through the bone, and beneath them were furred lop ears unlike I had ever known. Aghast I was, my eyes grew wide. I fell to my knees and cried.

What is she? I asked myself. My voice broken to a whimper. I brushed my fingers through her hair, waiting for her to stir at my touch. Nothing. Her eyes kept on mine, and would not waver. It was not until my hands met the wound at her stomach that I realised. Fingers marked in scarlet rivulets.

Gone. Gone the beauty of the creature before me. So entrancing, so ethereal, I collapsed over her broken form and wailed into the night. My heart whispered, as the knell. And tears. Tears fell, cascading down my cheeks. Sorrow was taking me, unrelenting in its torment. What had I done? What had I taken? All that I know, all that I am, forsaken.

The scent of death began filling the air.
Poor soul, poor soul.
Closing my eyes, I begged the torture to stop, begged the image of her broken body begone from my mind.
Then a flutter. A stirring. A voice from nowhere, whispers to a crescendo. Why? was all it said. Why? She was speaking to me. No, demanding. She was demanding an answer from me. One that I could not give, for I was merely selfish and indulged in a moment of cruelty, a moment of pleasure. Aroused in my mind was the desire to find the beauty I had always longed to find. But far too heavenly. Far, far removed from this world, the sublime creatures, the Otherworldly creatures. I must… I did destroy.

So magnificent her splendour, I had wanted her all to myself.
Now… the hunter in me…
Dying.
The remorse, the sorrow that followed…
Keening like a banshee, I crumpled to the earth.
The stain forever on my hands.
Her blood.
Her life.
I begged forgiveness.
But the guilt was unrelenting,
And the melancholy, bitter.
I drew from my person the pistol I had used to slay. Against my temple, to rid the images, I prayed.

A burst of light, then darkness scattered from above, in stars of onyx. And she. She came towards me, a smile gracing her lips, filling me with hope. Hope that peace be among us. Forgiveness upon me. Her porcelain fingers met my cheek and she brushed away my pain.

“Only man is capable of such cruelty towards another being, even to his own.” Her words cut deeply into me, and I feared Hell would swallow me in its icy bosom, as punishment.
I sighed through a jagged breath.
She continued. “Our fellow beings who walk this earth and fly in our winds, the innocent all forgive the horrors brought upon them by man, for we know man is weak, man is greedy. They are his sins, and his alone. If you love us, if you see our beauty, you will respect us. You will give us our lives. That is all we ask of you.”

Before I could respond, before I could repent and redeem myself, she vanished. She disappeared as a ghost from limbo, her business no longer unfinished. And yet, I realised, my body would forever remain in her place until her message was met by mankind through the ages, through to the end of time. Until the trail of bloodied tears ends. Until the innocent are freed.

© 2015

Want to read more of my Blue Fringe Arts works?
Click here

Absinthe

Published in the 2014 Blue Fringe Arts Short Story and Poetry Anthology.blue-fringe-arts3-001

Absinthe

I loathed the spell of the lullaby.
Iridescent in destruction,
Inside a sombrous reverie of my mind.
Of forgotten, despondent hearts
And magnificent splendour.

Fallow womb
Unkempt
Unripe
The rue unknown

Into the copse, a whisper
And the moonlight waned
In alabaster plague
Stained in wormwood

Of rosy hues;
Rotten mourning
In my madwoman’s cheek.
Inside my glass coffin
I sleep.

© 2014

Want to read more of my Blue Fringe Arts works?
Click here