Poetry, Romantic, Short Poem

A stolen moment of peace

As I gaze upon your clouded face, A beam of light feathers your cheek, Softening the furrows, the wrinkles, the blemishes. A gust of wind tickles a tendril of hair At the nape of your neck, Beckoning me to catch it between my fingers. As I bring the lock closer, The scent of your shampoo… Continue reading A stolen moment of peace

Poetry, Short Poem, Thoughtful


When our lips met, Instead of euphoria I felt more empty than ever conceivable. A hollowed-out husk, my mind wanders as my body remains in play. Detached as you conquer and caress, I cannot remember when I truly felt OK. Passion has become diluted, estrange as you demand for more. My misery is overcome by your… Continue reading void-less

Midnight thoughts, Poetry, Thoughtful

A Fallacy

It’s not love if you feel empty inside, unworthy, ugly, undeserving, ashamed, a myriad of dark emotions that causes depression. a strain to your mental health, anxiety, fear, self-hatred, pain, a dreaded, heavy darkness that surpasses the loving, the kisses, the hand holding, the cuddling, the manipulated, rushed declarations of love, the love letters, the… Continue reading A Fallacy

Midnight thoughts, Poetry, Thoughtful

I dream of a man–

I dream of a man shrouded by shadows; am I not a victim of desire, wanton for a man fashioned in nightmares? I am only mortal yet my choices tests my red blood sweetened by apples and poisoned by eyes led astray. I try to lead a life brightened by sun rays and happy, go-lucky… Continue reading I dream of a man–

Poetry, Romantic, Thoughtful

You smell of sunshine, even when there is rain

You smell of sunshine even when there is rain. I know our love will bloom– this love we share will never abide. To erase such a bond would be a sin– a smite on this world, a Plague’s dark hand suffocating as it promises revival. The taste of passion haunts me when you are away,… Continue reading You smell of sunshine, even when there is rain

horror, otherworldly

She is wicked, wicked, wicked–

She is wicked, wicked, wicked– a crone desperate for the smoothness of youth, a rounded, maiden craving the tang of lust, and a doe-eyed child who cackles alone in the dark. When she emerges from ash wolfbane dripping from her sickle-pale flesh, she will muddle the minds of men, so their shrewish wives will never question, why… Continue reading She is wicked, wicked, wicked–