There’s a wolf in my closet.
Sometimes he’s a man.
He watches me through a crack in the door.
I can feel his eyes
Surveying my naked body.
He licks his lips,
Waits for me to leave,
Then he slips out,
Crouched low like hanging smoke
And molests my things.
I hear crashes in the bathroom
And run to find the culprit
But he sinks back into the shadows
And watches me.
I catch him out of the corner of my eye
Shifting in shards of light.
Sometimes he hides beneath my bed
And waits till I’m asleep.
Then he slides his fingers,
Light as a breeze,
Along my spine.
I worry one day he’ll rip it out.
If I haven’t been quiet enough.
My friends think I’m crazy,
But they won’t spend the night.
This is part 1 which has morphed into part 2 (more flash fiction, less poem). Photo is from the WordPress library.
She awoke one fine cupcake morning,
Blue skies and nary a cloud in sight.
Village windows remained shuttered,
Terrific beasts tethered to the night.
It was a fine day indeed.
She had the invitations,
Colloquial and drawn in invisible ink.
Balloons of her favorite shades,
Faded blues and washed out grays,
Floated about the room;
Specters all their own.
Nine thirty and a quarter past second five.
She clasped her hands,
When only a strangers shadow
Fell upon the door.
“Am I late?”
An echo from empty marble halls.
“I do love parties after all.”
She tugged at cotton candy curls
And a dress of a more bland sort.
“Of course, of course.
Just lay your grievances down here.
After all, isn’t that what pity parties are for?”
Between how overwhelmed I’ve been pretty much all year at this point and a looming sense of becoming stuck in the status quo I’ve honestly felt like shit lately. I feel stuck, unimportant, unmotivated, uninspired and so very much like a total failure. I get to points where I wonder if every decision I’ve ever made has been the wrong one. Since I found myself having a pity party … Here we are
Violets are blue,
There’s something 🦆ing wrong with you
-Poems we love to hate, iPhone edition
Writer’s block, sorry (not sorry), randomness
I dream of you when I’m alone at night
When the air is cold and the moon does not light
Shadows flash framed against window panes
Remind me of gentle scratching rains
Under which you tried to dig my grave
You were weak and I was far from brave
In those woods where our trembling eyes met
You begged me not to make you do this yet
In my dreams the trees scream for me
Mounds of dirt rise up, making you see
Those are only dreams when I’m alone at night
When the moon is old and the air falls light
Into spaces between my time exposed bones
Where you left me, forever naked and alone