Poetry

The Lipstick Obliterate

Lips kissing lips,

Embrace and intertwine
Sepa-ha-rately fingertips.
Each face was like a canvas, to place a piece of art,
And softly as it pressed, it worked into the heart,
Believing for a minute: moments, tender and sublime,
Wasted time.
Fracturing a godsend, artist, lover; this miscarriage of justice is a note.
Untrue ripple spread in perfect circled lines, to bail the water from the boat.
Crying: save the souls of sinners, never terse when saying worse.
Drive body to the brink of death, drive shotgun in the hearse.
Time dreaming time,
When whiskey turns to brandy,
When brandy turns to wine.
Celebrate the constitution, enabling this woe,
Cut to little pieces; reality — all a show.
Casting and characters, reels and lines.
Fishing for compliments, pulling up mines.
Desolate in the room, dark and dismal, where love long ago lost.
Clarifying emotion, adrift in the ocean and bitter as frost.
Burning the truth to protect the core;
Wasted time, as before.
Begging to stay, on the walk to the door.
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Flash Fiction

Bombing

Bombing

“Oh the angels and the devils too”, she whispered as the blood poured in torrents from her; all over her body, endless streams. I tried to put pressure on the wounds, no good with medical things, that was how they did it in the films I suppose. “They creep around inside of you” The lady’s voice, unknown to me a few short minutes before grew frail and weak now as the death passed through her. Dragged her toward one of the emergency exits, but it wouldn’t open. Something on the other side held it shut, and the heat inside rose steadily. “They steal your heart and soul and fly” .

Why couldn’t the bleeding just stop, why was it so hard to get it to stop. They said in the films to put pressure on the wound, why did they lie? They always lie, about the important things. They make everything look easy, and it’s not easy, none of it is; they don’t prepare you for the fear and shock and the hero is always brave and perfect and gets everything under control. “And hold you when it’s time to die”. I wrapped my shirt around her waist but it was no good, she bled out. I wasn’t the hero, the heroes that night were clad in luminous jackets and held big red fire extinguishers in their hands. When the firemen arrived I was finally able to let go of her.

On the stretcher I stared at the stars, I wondered if life was worth all this violence and terror. I couldn’t shake the thought of men exploding from my mind, why they decided to turn themselves into fireballs for that brief moment and destroy so much innocence. I wanted to be a star but never in such a literal sense as these murderous fire-men, men who become fire instead of quenching it. that change the world in planes or trains or city buses. Dreamt about getting away from everyone, about the sea and about a world where we aren’t killed by our own kind.

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