Charmestry

"Dear boy, I once had a kitten and I held her in my arms. I could tell by her fast-paced heartbeat that she was afraid of me. 'baby girl,' I said, 'it's okay.' 'baby girl, see, I have a heart, too, just like you.' 'baby girl, I know you're afraid of the world, but...' 'baby girl, if I was a kitten, I'd probably be you.' today at work, I watched gravity in a speck of dust floating in the air. today at work, we had lunch outside, and it started to rain. everyone was panicking and running around and scurrying to get the food and everything inside. I just stood there watching the rain make dots on the pavement. it was so beautiful; I wish

dear boy, there’s some things we need to get straight       whether you like it or not firstly i might not know what love is        but i know what it’s not - it’s not something anyone could feel for me because i could never feel it for them         and love’s a two way process secondly - that wasn’t intended to sound harsh                          just honest and thirdly, to c

HOW TO WRITE (like me) PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT The following contains "bad language" for emphasis.  I do not endorse the use of such language, yet I use it anyway because that's how I roll and it can add good emphasis to the points I bring up.  If you don't like it, I pity you. Becoming an Author If you're looking for a step-by-step "How to Write the Next Bestseller", you're barking up an imaginary tree, so if I were you I'd desist from that before people stop and point at the delirious little chihuahua.  Thing about writing is... There's no secret.   (dun dun DUUUUN) That's right.  Those of you worrying about finding the Fountain

sleep is a one-legged whore who charges by the thousands. I'm the last- resort who can't afford her, but every 'couple days she crawls into bed with me, broke, with no where (else) to go. so I hold her close like no other man has, and when I wake up, she is gone.

--- part I. In another time, I may have been your late night confessionary, a Parisian whore to your gentle hands and overwhelming needs. I could see us touching, desperately touching –                    loving each other without knowing names. We are at times both romantic enough, and tragic enough, for that. And if I was not full of sin enough to beckon your fingers to my skin, perhaps I was only a girl you met for un café au lait. You laid your hand over mine beneath autumnal arbres, and we made small talk about the world. Perhaps; we are masters at making love with strangers. And you and I –        

Arthur works the night shift at a generically scummy bar so that he can sit all day in a coffee shop and write like the bohemian he can't really afford to be. This will not be a major contextual issue.          He sits now as he does every day, abusing the good-natured "free refill" system, drinking enough caffeine to relieve the fact that he works all night and drinks (coffee) all day. Sleeping fits into the equation in patches without regularity. He sleeps when his body requires it, and his body sometimes requires it when he's in the middle of doing something else. He sleeps when on the bus and misses his stop, or dozes as he is about to

riding the elevator      down, with the red and clear bags of waste, evidence of the dead or hardly living, as several women dressed in blue stepped on all smiling but one, pretty young nurse who smelled of soiled linen and raspberry chewing gum before it's drained of flavor she stared helplessly at the floor as if she didn't believe her designer shoes were upon it, or she could still see the blood long washed away, the smiles loaded and unloaded the flesh and bone that carried them I took notice   of her hand     shaking   

There you go breaking hearts. Casting a shadow of death. Do as you wish throwing others away. All you need is you. Liar. I know what you want. Passion. Love. Happiness. Can’t risk Your own heart. You’ll just destroy another.

listen: fall makes me think of leaving and of apple cider, though i never liked apple cider. but i liked the idea of it. listen: two years ago i met a boy as fragile as dead leaves who called me his little spring girl. (i'd always liked autumn the best.) he kissed the two soft dimples on the small of my back and told me helikedme helovedme hewantedme. and oh, by the way, "everything good must come to an end." listen: on our one year anniversary we picked out two pumpkins and i drew elephants on them for us to carve. he cut his out so aggressively that it lost its shape. lopped off tusks and broken trunks became just a large, jagged ho

The man with the umbrella smile and bright crooked eyes strips down the daylight like a hunter skinning first kill He lurches under a darkling moon tucking kite string under his coat where the wind gathers tears and leaves and scatters you in bits and pieces. He has cold hands without gloves and loves to touch you secretly when he thinks the moon is not watching and your lips are stitched shut by a mother's weary hands. His sighs are solitary shades growing in a damp knot under the stretch of your dress where he baits your breath and forces you to hold it until you turn blue. He offers you pieces of stars and pretty things