Do you know?

Do you know what it’s like to despise your own existence, to loathe it, to feel your mind, your soul, dripping with the ichor of self-hatred? To be completely covered and filthied by it?

But yet to live a daily life of smiles and laughter, to love it and revel in it, to wear that false face for so long that it almost feels real? Almost. Except when the lights dim, and you find yourself alone, smothered by self-realization… Realizing what a worthless and awful person you are. What a drain you are on those around you, those you love, those you SHOULD do better by. Should. Should Should.

It’s self-entrapment. Should. When you know you should, when you should be able, when you should do better… And just fucking can’t. When you’re so tied up, tied down, throttled by your own failings and inadequacies. By your mind’s very fucked-up-ness… ‘Should’ becomes the deadliest of words.  It carries so much weight, so much guilt.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have family.  My mother, my nieces and nephew.  Without them, I … It’d be so much easier, y’know? For them I wear the smiles. For them I can almost believe. Most of the time, I can forget myself, for them. I can forget…





I should write something

And I will. Eventually. Probably. Maybe?

Color Me #SpeakPoetry



I gave you

A silhouette

A shadow of

A drawing of

The heart

That beats

Within me

To fill


To rend me

As you see me

And you


You color

Me deadly

In blacks

And greys

With no shade



Of light

You paint me

As you see me

But you paint


As well

For all I gave

Was a silhouette

An abstract


For you

To fill

As you

And only you



Lantern Light #fieryverse



A lost child

Enters his forest

Drawn on

By lantern light

By hope of warmth

She encounters

The devil himself

A beastly form

Worn and torn




She approaches

Extends a small

Soft hand

He twitches


His eyes flare

And burn

But the child

Does not shy away

She instead


His pelt

Meets his gaze



Her death

In the

Lantern light

Of his eyes



Emerald Mystery #fieryverse



Kings and queens

Of the mounds

A mighty race

Lost underground



The history

Of the vast green

Velds of the Éire

The people

Of the Sidhe

Live on


From history

Forever sheathed

In emerald fire

In mystery

On the

Emerald Isle


The Wooded Realm Pt5



Ven huddles, looming shadows at her back.
Flames fan her face, but warm soothment they lack.
Her history, long hid from her, feels black.
As the crone tells on, Ven’s surety cracks..


“I was there, waiting, at your very birth.

With dust of coal and purest blood of earth,

I marked you true, as the fates demanded.

T’was I that named you, as they commanded.”


She pauses now, staring into the fire,

She whispers how, “It were my heart’s desire.

To be led to choose gives one regency,

In the eyes of the gods, ascendancy.”


Quickly, her hooded eyes alight on Ven,

“For you to know the scope, you must listen.

The magic draws you on undoubtedly.

Destiny you must endure, fearlessly.”


With raised brow, Ven hesitantly questions.

The hag replies, “Follow my directions-

A simple spell will send you to your fate.

Just listen my deary, and contemplate..”

Where will this wind our girl, what fate mentioned?


The Wooded Realm Pt4



Having run, Ven finds herself in danger-
Caught and held in the grip of a stranger,
Who retains long sought answers within her.
What do secrets cost, what is their nature?


Freed of hands, bound by curiosity,

Ven crouches, awaiting veracity.

From this ag-ed, bent and gnarled figure.

This small, seemingly frail, warted creature.


“Who is it you claim to be-” Ven starts,

At the crack of a smack, her cheek smarts.

“You’d be wise to hold thy tongue,” the crone growls,

“For flapping lips do quickly run afoul.”


“Your story, my child, began long ago.

When stars ran aground and their magic flowed.

In my veins runs the gift of prophecy,

And ages past your name came unto me.


“With mine own eyes I beheld your squalling.

Glimpsed your future darkly with my calling.

To your parents I went, ‘fore them I told –

She must be named and marked as I was bode!”


Ven’s tale winds on with a magical bend.



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