Night Childe

She walks in step with the night
Snuggly swaddled in its ebony coat
It has always been her one true friend
Her muse, whom she often quotes

She scribbles her wishes on its blank black canvas
Staples her dreams to the backs of dingy doves
Nails her hopes to the wings of ravens
And sends them all to the stars above

She is black lips and blacker heart
Sultry sin in its purist form
A damaged damsel gone bad
Doing whatever it takes to keep warm

She dances with the devil
A wicked waltz of spreading blight
Hoots and howls at the moon
Parts her thighs and devours its light

 

Photo via iStock

Paint It Black

Paint It Black video

Performed by: The Rolling Stones

Writer(s): Keith Richards, Mick Jaggers

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Broken Things

how do you mend broken things
can you mend broken things
that can’t be seen…
cracks that splinter a bleeding heart
clefts that rend a battered soul
chasms that cleave a suspicious mind

empty words are not bandaids
good deeds are not splints
love is not glue…
to things that were broken so long ago
that crucial pieces were forever lost
to the merciless left hand of time

Photo via Pixabay

The Right Way

“You’re not doing that right,” Ted said, crowding up against my side, using his considerable bulk to nudge me out of his way. He opened the upper cabinet, swinging it so wide it almost hit the side of my head.

I moved a step to my right, pausing the round and round motion of the paring knife circling the potato in my hand. Taking a deep breath, I stared out the small window at the red sky cradling the late-evening sun sinking over the distant mountains.. A hot puff of desert air found its way between the two panes of roll-out glass, riffling the sweaty tendrils of fading auburn hair sticking to my cheeks. I sighed.

He thunked down a cup on the countertop, then snagged the carafe brimming with fresh brewed coffee, sloshing some onto the Formica I had wiped down not five minutes ago.

“You need to use the peeler like I do…”

And just when’s the last time you did that? I thought.

“…not a knife,” he continued. “You’re wasting too much of the potato. Why do you always have to do things the hard way, Lulu?”

“It’s not hard for me. It’s the way I’ve always done it, the way my mama done it.” Go away! Leave me alone! I focused on the melancholy saguaro cactuses dotting the landscape, their heavy arms raised in silent surrender.

“But you’d save time and potato if you did it my way.” Continue reading “The Right Way”

Henry Lee

Henry Lee Video

Performed by: Nick Cave and PJ Harvey

Writer(s): Henry Lee is an old Scottish murder ballad that, according to Nick Cave, “…I read in a book somewhere and played around with. It’s, um, a story about the fury of a scorned woman.”

Little Girl Lost

She was born into the salty soup of summer
Fiery sunlight danced in her bouncing hair
Green grass waved in her sparkling eyes
Ripe berries stained her smiling lips

She ran with the wild things
Collecting golden memories in her mind
And silver linings around her clouds
And life was as it should be

In time, she strayed from sunny meadows
Into deep shadowed woods
Where she became lost
Among the black twisted trees

She stumbled through the dark
Crying out as thorny fingers
Gouged blood from her tender flesh
She called out for help that never came

The grimy moonlight washed away her innocence
Washed away kindness and charity
Washed away hopes and dreams
Washed away trust

She fell in with hyenas dressed in wolves’ clothing
Echoed their crazy laughter
While turning her back on all that was right and good
All that was clean

She rolled in the dirt
Concealing what once had been pure
What had once been a shining soul
There was no place in her life for that now

Photo via iStock

Gone

too much hurt
too much pain
too much rage
…won’t do it again

not enough joy
not enough peace
not enough love
…to make up for grief

leave me be
leave me alone
leave me empty
…leave me…gone

 

Photo via Pixabay 

It

I dreamed it, and now it’s mine…

The vile thing cries out from under the bed, demanding to be fed when I nurse Joey. I try to ignore it, but I’m its mother, and I can’t.

I can’t!

Lord knows I’ve tried.

Its wet screeching affects me every bit as much as Joey’s soft cries. I can’t deny it substance. So I gather its scaly body to my breast, hot pain piercing my nipple as its teeth sinks in, and it feeds, first on my milk, then my blood.

It’s growing faster than Joey, barely a month old and already crawling. How long before it walks? How long before it will be able to climb unaided into bed with me? How long before it can clamber up the side of Joey’s crib?

I have to kill it before I’m any weaker.

I can do this. I have the knife in my hand.

Freshly fed, stomach full of my milk and blood, it’s sleeping in its dark nest under the bed. Now is the time.

I hunker to my knees, raise the knife, and slowly lift the bedskirt.

There the evil thing is, lying on its side facing me, its long pink tail curled over its eyes like some obscene sleeping mask.

Joey whimpers.

I glance over my shoulder, lay a finger over my lips “shh”, then turn back to my other son—

And see a dark blur of movement, angry red eyes, and a huge, suckered mouth full of needle teeth. Then pain—oh god, the pain—and darkness as those teeth close over my face. And rip.

Photo via iStock 

Gods and Monsters

Gods and Monsters video

Performed by: Lana Del Rey

Writer(s): Lana Del Rey and Tim  Larcombe

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