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These are poetry drafts. I consider all my poetry in a constant state of drafting, some with revision ongoing, others merely gathering dust. Some have been published but will still be considered drafts.

N.B. When these posts were imported I noticed some of my reblogs also got pulled in. It should be ovious from the contents that they are reblogs from other writers. I am in the process of removing those posts.

RED

By -

Red is the canvas on the easel

morbid thoughts painting blood.

Red stains on the carpet,

slowly drying, leaving marks.

Red fingers, I carry with me,

obsessive cleaning, to no avail.

Red stains on your sheets,

spoils our dreams of a child.

SILENCE

By -

I would never be an anon

asking things of you

that I wouldn’t ask in person

face to face with you

thus silent – I remain

SAND BETWEEN MY TOES

By -

The chosen diet of
Sauvignon Blanc and
chocolate were slowly
starting to make a
differences as I climbed
higher and higher into
the shadows where the
line between reality
and dreams begun
to look like the sand between
my toes on a sunny beach.

BUTTONS

By -

I have buttons you know
and if you press them
in the right order I will
sing for you forever.

Continuously pressing them
in the wrong order and
I will slowly, and not gracefully
explode.

Till death do us part – it
could get messy.

Friday 13th 02.35am

By -

Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s take a bike ride
Down by the old canal

I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says I have to stay indoors

Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s kick that football
The park’s not far away

I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says my legs are too brittle

Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s go for a swim
Along the old lake shore

I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says I could catch a cold

Jason, Jason come out and play
Ignore here now and rebel
Againt her cottony ways

Okay, let’s go for a swim
Its freakish Friday
What could possibly go wrong…

@thatrandomprompt prompted me…

LA FEMME DRACULE

By -

She sways her rounded hips around the ballroom, catching the attention of men in the mist. Their longing feeds her lust and the dividing frenzy becomes ecstatic as her eyes part from his, her smile widens and she kisses his neck.

WITHERING LOWS

By -

Where is the line
you cannot cross?
To arrive at work
not recalling
how you got there,
or getting back home
not quite sure
which way you took?
Drunk from drink or
from overworking,
both can kill
but only one
will give you jail.
I cross the line – every day.

RICH F@CKER (NSFW)

By -

I roll up a note,
a long one,
and smell you
deeply,
then roll up a few more
and fuck you
senseless,
Wasn’t that always your dream
Huh?

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