So lost (part 3) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one here
Read part two here


And not for me, she’ll ever feel.

And tainted of her blood, like a spell, I have forgotten love. I forbade myself her, from loving her. Forever as a spectre withing my mind. My love for her never returned. But never forgotten, the horror of her losing herself. Her happiness, herself, she was robbed of those things when she chose to live life in mourning.

© 2016

So lost (part 2) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one here


Crestfallen, she falls and I do nothing. She has driven herself to this. There is nothing I can do. And though I love her, I cannot.

I have seen the monster within, the one incapable, unwilling, to surrender to happiness and love. And though my hands are washed of her blood, the torrents stain.

Stains which last, scoring the flesh. Never to be free of her.

© 2016

So lost – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part two here


So lost, she’s gone to me. Gone from me. And though I have shown her what love is, what it means to feel love, she doesn’t see it, she doesn’t feel it. Not from me. And though she has betrayed me, manipulated my heart into feeding her delusions, I cannot break the spell over me. I love her and she’ll never return it.

© 2016

She speaks to angels

This is a work in progress.


She:
Breaking through these hardships
though I’d never looked up from the roses
when the darkness reached the silence
and the sorrow in his eyes

I was lost
and lonely
and so cold in there
Forgotten beneath the stars
I took all of his love
And fought it through the night

Embracing all of the madness
So lost was my mind…
Lost
so lost
inside

He:
She speaks to angels
Burns and decays
And flies away…
From her heart
in which sombrous daemons dwell
tearing me from her

© 2016

My name is beauty

The Marquis de Sade has been a small obsession of mine for quite some time. While I have been working on an historical novel regarding the French writer, I have also been writing little musings. After reading through many of his letters, I have been trying to get a feel of his voice.

Want to read more of my works on the Marquis de Sade?
Read the short story, Letter to the Marquise


My name is beauty.
Cries of ecstasy haunt
the lips of those
who speak my name,
The Marquis de Sade.

© 2012

Justine – work in progress

Virtue cries
as it weakens to vice
And she falls…
to her own grotesque sin
of growing pride;
the vain delight in her purity.

Her penitence cannot win
against a sinful world.

Justine’s prize
taken; a price
She feels…
everything.

She winces, she cries
And forced lone into the night
But lost Justine, she’s found again
And taken to that domain;
to a fate before the gallows
to a fate preordained.

But for the moment she is saved
A fire stole away her death
and so she holds her breath,
awaiting her next moral decay…

…when she is next enslaved.

Probing her innocence
and tearing her faith
to bleed her rue…
for her insolence.
Searing flesh beneath the brand
bones cracking under their hand
Dehumanised, she feels…
it all.

“Death!” she cries but her God has fled
and no mercy granted in the rueful bed.

Broken womanhood, and she…
sullied from within.
Ruined innocence, and she…
victim of their original sin.

The death of her,
body and mind
ever-agonising;
her whole life defined
and to an end
unseen by her.

Never again to win against;
her fate preordained.

© 2016

So comely, the sirens mourn – work in progress

So comely, the sirens mourn
turned to ash and shadows
spirits of their loves gone.

Caged, they dwell within
the prison of the mind
So oft at war, a damning sin.

The melancholy maladies
surge and erupt
attuned to these tragedies.

Atropine-tainted shadows
they linger, striated
tracing veins in throes.

Through distant memories;
whispering to one then
echoing into melodies

And mad maledictions
pictures of mental anguish
staining all convictions.

Forever frozen as pewter flakes
Begone! but they live as cries
each time she lies awake
each time she closes her eyes

© 2016