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
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.
When I ride the bus
or I am out walking my dog
when I’m on the train
and going no where
in particular at all
I like to watch people
I like to take their faces into my head
inch by inch
I can take my time
because they are on their phones
trapped in a screen
unable to look up and away
I can steal their expressions, collect their hands, shoulders, their eyes
put them in my memory to be devoured
at a later time
a story or a poem .
When I am out
loose and invisible in a sleeping world
I feel like a gargoyle
on a wall.
Here I am.
Shall we begin….
Once upon a time.
Muscle to bone
blood to vein
skin to wrap it up tight
Open you eyes
time to wake up
throw back your dirt blanket
Just for this night
not one second more
we will dance with the living
Daily Addictions Prompt: Muster
My love of writing, my sense of justice and fair play, the reason I worked in a Funeral Home were things I was inspired to do in the Twilight Zone.
I want to be
all at the same time
I am like
a stained glass window
caught in the walls
of an abandoned church
where ghosts and demons
play cards and shoot dice
Daily Addictions Prompt: Fuse
In his book “Misery” Stephen King’s protagonist, Paul Sheldon has this reaction to Anne Wilke’s critique to what he’s written (I have to paraphrase because this is from memory)
Sheldon says that Annie has just moved from being loyal reader to merciless editor.
Facebookers are VERY loyal readers, we’ve all been there it’s true.
I posted the following meme where it ended up on a newsfeed with pictures talking cats and dogs, what people were in the midst of eating and arguments about how we would be on the one true path if pink salt was involved.
What I got were comments about what could happen if I did this. That’s right I got legal advice from Facebookers with ZERO legal training who think they know what happens to authors who base characters off of real people.
What they said: It’s against the law
If you do it you will be sued!!!
First off the level of ignorance I pertaining to the laws regarding this issue was hiking to the top of Mount Everest without oxygen tanks breathtaking.
Secondly, I’ve been writing for over 30 years and writing online consistently since around 2006.
I know what I’m doing.
I’ll bring this home now.
Shoot off fireworks after midnight, call me fat and ugly but do not try to mess with my creative process or writing.
When I was in my late 20’s I began to have crippling, brain scrambling Panic Attacks.
I’m not sure what kicked them off into high gear but they always followed the same pattern: I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was going to die and then after that thought took root I couldn’t breathe.
They were horrible. Even if I could get through the attack I was to scared to fall asleep. So on top of the attacks I began to suffer from the affects of lack of sleep- the worst one by far was depression.
So what did I do?
I read every book I could find about death.
I read books about forensics, I read about the process the body goes through after it dies and I also read medical articles about the process of death itself.
I even schooled myself on the customs and folklore concerning Death in cultures around the world.
This went on for a couple of years.
I understand now that this was a risky path- I could have easily taken what I was learning and topped myself off or it could help me overcome my fear of waking up in the middle of the night thinking I was going to die.
What I was doing was learning about the thing I perceived as my enemy so that I would know it for what it was if it did try to get me.
So did it work?
With what I learned I became a Mortician’s Apprentice, I write about death and ghosts with my own special twist. In fact, I think going down that path made me a better writer.
I also know it gave me a warped sense of humor and a lot of patience for the people in my life.
I also learned that Death wasn’t really my enemy.
It was the face I gave my fears and terrors- now I don’t jump from every shadow that falls my way. Now I can see them for what they are and deal with them.
So I can safely now say I learned a lot from The Grim Reaper and that he was one of the teachers in my life that I can look back on and say, ” Wow, did I learn a lot from that one! ”
The specifics beyond what I mentioned here are between me and my friend in Black. But. I’ll let you in on a secret- the other parts of those specifics are in what I write and in every single laugh and giggle and dream I have.
Daily Addiction Prompt: Cope