With You Always

She was broken,

we were broken

she meant nothing to me at all

in the end

he said sadly through a cloud of smoke

to his hot Mama, the Goddess

his true love

on the night of his final betrayal.

 

And they lived happily ever after

until she came back

from the dead and tracked the dirt they buried her in

right up

to

their

front

door.

 

 

Wickedness

 

Na/GloPoWriMo Day Nine asks us to engage in another kind of cross-cultural exercise, as it is inspired by the work of Sei Shonagon

Wickedness isn’t born like me or you or a kitten, it doesn’t sprout from the ground like a flower or a tree.

Wickedness is created, like a painting,  stroke by stroke upon an unyielding piece of canvas

like a mural on a wall with nothing to stop it  from becoming something else other then a cool brick wall.

Wickedness is like Frankenstein’s Monster stitched together in secret from stolen corpses taken from the ground in the dead of night against their will  with rough hands and rusty shovels.

Wickedness in a tribute, a memorial to the remains of good things

that should have been.