the house sat off-putting
surrounded on both sides
by mediocre and discolored homes
where the wood of the fences
and doors were chipping
where the windows were a little dusty
where spiderwebs hung at the corners
where inside the houses
stood otherworldly figures
hiding from light
Dim lights and sharp edges
and limbs bumping into each other
the blade’s shine you cannot see
so you listen to the screams of the night
in this little room where they dance in the dark
one by one the dancers drop like flies
and the masked killer dances with their blood
Your face is tender,
wax on
my finger.
I mold you into
something new.
crush you.
melt you.
adieu.
red
is passionate.
red
is beautiful.
a radiance
dancing through
different shades,
different wonders.
the seductive fragrance
of a rose.
the accelerating beat
of a lusting heart.
the sweetness
of a strawberry.
the acidity
of a juicy tomato.
a dotted ladybug
caressing
the tree’s fingertips.
a glossy red apple.
and all I want
is a small sample
of the color red
through the means
of your broken head,
dripping with that
wondrous tint
a bloody red
Do you know what it feels
like when everyone walks past you?
When everyone
talks over you?
When no one gives you
their time of day?
I am invisibility at its finest.
I get not one glance in the slightest.
I am a walking ghost
passing through wall to wall.
I remember the first time
I saw you.
Your skin was glistening
under the summer sun.
How I wished to hold you close.
But to you I was nothing,
a piece of debris traveling
in the somber air,
a trash bag floating with
a merciless wind.
And then I saw you with her
blonde, blue eyes
the ones you prefer.
I’ve bought a new outfit
for me to wear.
I’ve put on some makeup
and done my hair.
Do you like how I drip
in your lover’s blood?
Do you like this new look
and the orange that I wear?
Just switch on the news.
You’ll see me I’m there.
What do you think of
my new, blonde hair?
Don’t worry these bars
are really not there.
May you let me ponder
one simple question.
Have I finally got your attention?
honey-colored toes
frozen like stone
ice dripping
melting under a
scorching star
sweet little toes
curling in the face of foes
tapping and dancing
through mountain
and valley
and river
and ocean
honey-colored toes
curling in the face of foes
blood dripping
faces melting
Something inside me
loves to
twist
as
my lips
long for the
rarest red.
In the air lives a
bloody anticipation,
my gradual
transformation.
Am I ready?
No, I am not.
Hurting others,
this I was not taught.
But lately, I’ve been wanting a
kill.
First,
a bluebird
chiming on
a tree.
Next,
a golden hare
descending
a
mountain.
Now,
I desire an even larger target.
One that will pose
an enticing challenge.
Will it fight me?
I hope it will.
But in the end,
nothing in this
world
can match
my
skill.
Bring your mittens
and your scarf
a cozy jacket
a fluffy beanie
it is snowing
and
winter is glowing
bring your courage
and your strength
bring the lord
and his prayer, for
on this perfect winter day
a killer is on the loose
searching for prey
and today you tread alone
in a cold
cold
world
The year I found my one true love
he gave me the sweetest kiss
I gave him my purest cherry
a naive girl and a young boy
eager and desperate to marry
it all happened so fast
the way our relationship bloomed
the way it was destined to doom
1975
was a year of many lows and highs
with him, I saw tomorrow
but now all I see is sorrow
he died much too soon
left me alone much too soon
but I found someone new to bring home
together rebuild a lover’s dome
cheers to falling in love again
cheers to falling in love with him again
to falling in love with his ghost
then following him to the grave
Sometimes when I stepped into the warmth of my home I caught a whiff of Mother’s sweet, apple pie. If a pie had hands and arms it would have wrapped me up in the fluffiest blanket as if I were a newborn, clinging to me and offering comfort like no other.
When the smell of cinnamon and apples danced through the kitchen walls I knew today would be a special day.
Sometimes it was a birthday, perhaps my older sister, Mara’s. Or perhaps father had obtained yet another promotion. Other times it came down to one simple thing: Mother was in a darn good mood. Her baking told me so.
Last time it had been my very own birthday. Mother always knew I wasn’t particularly fond of birthday cakes or birthdays for that matter.
And yet she always baked me an apple pie, adding a generous layer of apples just for me. Just how I liked it.
But one day changed everything.
From then on, I couldn’t bear to stand an apple pie in my sight. It was as if staring at a sweet, harmless pie would cause my eyes to pop out of their sockets, dangling on my cheeks with fear.
You see, on one summer day Father had come home from work–tired and with a look, I had never seen on a man.
His eyes glowed with menace. He snatched Mother’ s apple pie and began relentlessly pounding at it with his fist. Bits of apple splattered all over mother’s panic-stricken face. The pounding quicker and stronger with each passing moment, like the sound of a drum gone mad.
Then he turned to mother and yanked her delicate, auburn hair, began pounding her head to the floor. He had a rage of a beast that had been caged for his entire life and just now had been set free. The ugliness set free.
Bits of red splattered all over my face, and I stood there in utter shock. Too scared to even let out the slightest gasp.
I was frozen like a rock, a rock that had witnessed countless crimes and tragedies but could never manage to move, to do something–anything.
But if you could feel my beating heart, you would know I wasn’t empty. I was screaming deep inside. Blood, apples, and cinnamon mixed, creating something different, something dead.
AllthingsUncanny 