Tag Archives: young writer

That Swine Who Jammed The Rusty Gate

The gargoyles protect my silver crest-

the one that is tucked in a trinket box.

They whisper.

.

The piercing voices sew my mind.

And then they notice.

.

It was the bleeding that gave it away.

The bleeding of thoughts that seeped through the faulty key-hole.

And when it accumulated and poured,

like a stream of screams,

they stopped taunting.

.

Their attempt of mopping the clots off the page was more like

stabbing ink and scribbling words.

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The journey to Davy Jones’ Locker

My mind is lubricated

with the wine of thought-

it seeps pleasure

and craves empty bottles.

 

The tornado of infinite joy

licks the glass

like an overzealous lover.

 

When the glass becomes dry

the pirates’ wife comes out to play.

 

She teases my lips,

numbs my throat

then contaminates my cadaver

with her black, spicy spirit.

 

Her whisper is a

clap of thunder

and captures me

like a grapnel

as I become squiffy

and load the gun walls.

 

Avast!

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Filed under Things that are going on inside my head right now