The outside evil

Windows shatter in this house
broken glass we can’t get out
fire sits just outside doors
we can’t breathe this time for sure
children burn and then they cry
we forget how nightmares hide
in the doorways, windows and floors
the demons know what we look for.

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Creating magic

Every line is magic
when you know the trick
click the rhythm over
make the brain drip, drip
give over to the main beat
it all sounds like the same thing
make the feet keep tapping
we flow so sick
we rapping
when you got that magic
you write the words like tragic
Shakespeare would be stabbing
starving from the grave.

Once again

I let things go
but never truly
I hold them close
I keep them to me
never so
I’ll say goodbye
I keep these moments
memorized
everything
you made me feel
I remember things
you meant to kill
I let go
of many things
never truly
though it seems
I will see you
once again
when this chapter
of light ends

The breath of strings

Harps are playing once again
stories of what’s never been
a dream once thought
never gone
the harps are playing
playing memories in song
every note it’s own meaning
melodies often deceiving
everything will go to bed
close their eyes
never to breathe again

Twist the heart

Twist the myths
rewrite the rhymes
we all forget
just a matter of time
falling into what might have been
a time when we were better kept
twist the memories so young
rewrite the victories already won
and take back what you once gave up
twist it all and break the bones
no logic left
just feel the purpose
everyone can shed a tear
never true feeling just lending an ear
and so we twist and churn our hearts
don’t remember being torn apart

Sharp dressed man

Butch is putting on her shades after fixing up her tie-looking sharp.
Baby will be pleased.
Stoic face flashes a grin firing finger pistols at the mirror with a-heh heh. She exits the bathroom quickly maneuvering through the narrow hallways of her family’s apartment holding her breath. Butch doesn’t want to be seen-can’t take a conversation. Mei is in the closet, she won’t be back until sometime tomorrow. Besides-Polly’s waiting.
Reaching the front door she exhales, catching the soft sound of Jade’s singing in the kitchen, and the scent of dumplings. Butch’s stomach rumbles as she turns the knob slipping away without a sound.
Once to the sidewalk Polly squeals.
“Butchy!” flinging arms and legs around shoulders and waist she takes in her scent, “You ready?” her voice is like candy, the kind that pops on your tongue. Little Miss Pocket is down for some fun as her feet hit the cement once again.
“Always,“ Butch grabs her lady by the hip and the two begin walking down the quiet street.
They haven’t discussed what they’re doing, but both figured the night would have it’s way-It always does.
What a sight our ladies are tonight! One three piece suit, one hot pink dream. Butch looking like a bluesy brother and Polly in a velvet number that would make a grown man squeal. The grin on Butch’s face let’s you know she’s savoring every moment, pulling her Pocket closer she pretends reality melts away.
The wind blows more than a breeze-the girls are in the first boulevard where apartments become houses and those houses are rather large. Another soft gust and something’s caught Polly’s attention, her nose twitches, her eyes follow the scent.
“Butch baby, do you see what I see?“ her freckled cheeks rise as her smile reaches ear to ear.
Following her eye line Butch sees a house, a house in the middle of the street. A pretty place all closed up for the night, a pretty place without a porch light.
With a smirk, “That I do my pretty, that I do.”
They begin walking their footsteps silent, and as they reach the driveway they separate. Polly heading forward, Butch taking the back-as usual. Tucking her shades into her chest pocket she spots the back gate. Every neighborhoods the same: reach over, pull up, the locks gives-no fuss. Once in she closes it silently behind her-this girl’s practiced.
The backyard is nice. One of those sweet promises fulfilled: a pool, garden, patio, and all. She breathes slowly reaching the backdoor-two bills it’s open-and so it is. She slips in.
Her ears twitch immediately. Polly’s in already heading up the staircase. Smiling she takes in the scene, no real need to rush. She’s in the kitchen, it’s modern day, fully stocked-good pick. With a grin and a flash she pulls her piece striking a cop pose before,heh heh,clearing the area. She’s moving with purpose, weapon at the ready, but she’s alone.
No bedrooms, she frowns. The house is beautiful, five rooms downstairs, but no sign of life. Silently she moves towards the stairs. There’s a thud Polly’s found a breather thump our suited heroine is on the move!
Reaching the top she meets a robed woman before she can scream Butch covers her mouth. Pushing the woman to the floor, her piece to the woman’s temple-once, twice, three times for safety. The silence helps, but she drags the body along anyway. Finding Polly in the midst of pulling a gagged man’s eyes from his face-still breathing.
Her strawberry cutie turns to her all smiles, “Clear,” then turns back to her toy pulling the remains from his sockets.
Taking in the upstairs Butch spots what looks like a kids room. She doesn’t go in. She simply walks to the door and closes it. With an easy breath she shrugs-Polly woulda done them first.
Our b&e babes clean out the joint, pulling plan: Arson Investigator Gone Wrong, and setting the place a blaze.

All pleasantries

Burn the letters and the games
break the table and the frames
shame the self that swore to this
gave into ignorance
and ultimately bliss
the happiness that comes from
only pain
the dreams in the head
the urge to pray
burn all the letters
forget what they say
everything glitters until it decays

More updates

Slowly it is coming
soon we will reveal
a site that is consistent
in content, look and feel
a variety of genres
and of course more poetry
along with publications
and probably some more things
thank you for the attention
and all the reading love
slowly is coming
with so much content to eat up
but in the very meantime
just thought I’d give my thanks
it gives me more to write about
and keeps an even pace