An open letterAn open letter to humanity,
when I look around all I see is insanity.
Unsolved problems we call laws,
Greed defiling everything with it's filthy paws.
Profit before progress is what I see,
Our current code of conduct sickens me.
Cyclical consumption bleeding the planet dry,
the last human standing will be left wondering: why, why, WHY!?
Even as our finite resources are running out,
we fail to see the root of the problem and what it's about.
Systematically pushing problems out of sight,
how can any self respecting human be part of this blight.
Each disaster should have been a lesson learned,
but we refused to stop until all fossil fuel was burned.
It was our addiction to petrochemicals that tightened the noose,
an abomination we created, nurtured and carelessly set loose.
We're barely out of the jungle yet pretend to be civilized,
democracy is what we preach yet no ideal is left uncompromised.
The one eyed man is king in the land of the blind,
so please educate yourself and open your mi
Death Has Chivalry (a mockery)He comes when my shoulders are shaking, his scarf gasping between my hands.
I whirl to face him; he waits patiently with a smile.
“You think this is a game?” Betrayal is the acid in my gut as it froths into my throat: he is no longer birds and dreams, but a coyote leering behind the ribcage of a lamb, and I’m caught up in his teeth. “Here, take this back.” I throw the scarf at his feet. His perfect, pale, fair-boned feet.
He slowly stoops to pick it up. When he weaves it around his neck, it looks like he’s dancing.
He rests one hip against the kitchen’s island, pondering. “Now that’s not very nice. You took something from me,” His palm splays out beautifully across his chest, and his eyes find mine. There’s that smirk. “I’m not allowed to return the favor?”
“But you can’t give yours back!” The shriek sounds deranged as I smack my palm onto the table. There’s an eart
TheAfterWhys.I know now,
that the muffled pressure in the dark space
of your car was us screaming into the silence:
I don't really know you,
but I want to.
I want to love you.
We were so so wrong for each other.
I know now,
that the drip burn of candle wax on the back of my hand
was you saying:
It hurts.
This not-quite-fitting-together,
but wanting it so much.
I know now,
that the sound of your receding footsteps
are louder than whispered cries of:
Stay. Please.
And I know why.
I know why we were silent
when we should have screamed.
I know why we could never,
would never, fit together.
I know all of the whys,
now.
After.
The Kids Are HomeWe stood around her in a circle as she took her last breath. None of us could think of anything to say, but we all knew we were on our own now. She’d joined the rest of her generation, and it was up to us to finish the mission. To survive.<da:thumb id="544104006"/>
We were so close we decided not to jettison her body but lay her to rest in the ground like the old custom we’d only read about. It seemed like a bittersweet way to christen our new home.
Two days later, we could see the cobalt blue glow with our bare eyes. The entry sequence initiated not long after that, and we strapped ourselves in. With our hands clenched in quiet fear, we waited for our ship to performed her final act of service and bring us safely to the ground.
The ground … our ship had only known it once before, and we knew nothing at all. What would it be like standing on dirt, seeing the stars from a fixed point in space? What would dirt feel like between our toes? Or sand or grass or mud or rock? Would they welcome
futureThe night is a doll that wears my skull,
a loose pair of eyes that rattle like snakes,
dreams a vision too bleak for a fist -
too much for a voice.
Self loathing is a mastermind,
draped around these city lights,
a picture of a seesaw
that still gives vertigo:
hindsight, foresight, hindsight.
I teeter on my speckled legs
and feed stomachs to the bushes.
Sandra Daron knows what it’s like to die. Every time she touches someone, she experiences their last moments; burning, drowning, choking, dead.
Her visions shatter any pretense of normal she might wish she had. She’s a freak, isolated and alone in her small town junior high school. Her parents don’t care what she does or where she goes and all she wants to do is get by without being noticed.
All of that changes when a rough-around-the-edges father moves his two boys into the old house next door. The Sloans are a family in a way Sandra has never known. The brothers won’t let her hide and soon love and passion arouse the life within her to fight off the death she sees every day.
When girls in town start disappearing and Sandra becomes the next victim, she’ll learn just how far the Sloans are willing to go to save the ones they love. But something bad done for the sake of something good doesn’t make it right. Sandra might have the power to save the people in her visions, but is she willing to pay the price?
An unorthodox family brought together by a young woman’s premonitions of death, Sticks and Stones is a dark and gritty gothic romance about roads paved with good intentions.