He rises, impotent.
She watches while
his life pools,
his dread grows,
and then;
nothing.
Occasional poetry and prose. Sometimes melancholy, sometimes happy. Original photos from around the place.
Written in the Dirt Posts
Almost over the hill, but not.
A big fat girl,
flirting in the sun.
They come from every direction.
From miles around.
Along the well trodden path
To take her,
or just to look.
She’s surrounded.
Approaching with butterflies,
trembling more.
Heartbeats break the silence.
A virgin voyeur waits
to take his shot
at what he thinks he wants.
The wind changes and suddenly –
realization of his unreadiness.
She turns and looks,
as if to say
“Come and get me”.
He turns and runs,
the other way
“Not today”.
Regret and relief swirl together
As someone else steps up to tame her.
Not a tender beat in that heart.
Cramp-like pain in the chest, and a headache that never stops.
The ink-black horrors when my eyes close.
With mouths peeled apart, as if to engulf.
A dark blue light with flickering shadows, watching everything as if from a fire.
A jade elephant sentry, at the gate to the red hill.
Smiling greasy faces in bliss oblivious, is it a warning?
Effortlessly fingerpainted masterpieces of a certain style I made in my mind.
Distracted and gone, but then back, almost but never.
Suddenly, you can’t remember the last time you breathed.
Realisation: a death of the self.
He’s not breathing.