Take my strength, share my soul, and have all of my heart. – Ash
When I write, I give it like blood
all my emotions like DNA
unique to me
only it can be shared with others
it passes through to the world
I’ll never know if it lives on
but I won’t stop bleeding my words
I’ll still give away my life
for longer life
for my story
If you don’t stop and look around, how can you say you were actually there? When life taps on your shoulder…say hello. – Ash
Today, I found myself between a rock and an awesome place. Seek mountains and enjoy the high – Ash
I love experiencing something that I forgot I missed. Like the smell of the ocean, the call of seabirds, and standing in the picking rain while I drift. I call them triggers when they happen. Triggers that I’m not living my life the way I was meant to. Reminders that there are pieces of me that need replenishing. – Ash
#reblog #fiction #serialkiller #crime #amwriting #WritingCommunity
The body was easy to move from the place to the car to the boat. As it always is. Premeditation is kind of my thing. I have done this same routine maybe a hundred times. No, I believe it is a hundred and six times. Yeah, a hundred and six. You know, blondes are my favourite of all the women. Slightly more gullible. Usually more attractive. All of them walking by themselves late at night. Coming from their restaurant shifts, drunken bachelorette parties, or on their way to an ex-boyfriend. Then, I would present myself to these tired, these tipsy, and these texting specimens. Most nights, it is an unlit cigarette in poor lighting that works effortlessly. Cliché I know. Although, there were times I would fake a bleeding lip on this fragile face of mine. It was easy with these ladies the way…
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Today, I don’t want to exist.
Tomorrow is fine, but not today.
Today, I don’t deserve anything.
I hate the happiness, I hate the gift ideas.
I hate the attempts to cheer me up from friends and family.
I hate cards, I hate phone calls, I hate the internet.
I hate robbing my stepfather from his day, I’m so damn sorry.
I hate Sundays, I hate barbecues, I hate gatherings and music.
I hate being called something I’m not, stop telling me different.
Stop!!! It only encourages me and I lie to myself again.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter wishes were still with us.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter celebrates beating Cancer.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter begs freed from behind bars.
I’m not even a Dad a son or daughter forgives for his mistakes.
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my love for you is like a book with stolen pages
beautiful words erased
everything’s torn from the very bind
words rewritten that were never mine
an unknown author with a tale of a broken heart
spends his lonely days with nowhere to start
his pen runs dry
there’s nothing more to capture
in this tragic love story without its final chapter
If my trial has ended,
why do your stones still lay at my feet?
My deepest wounds will never heal until their forgotten.
No, always they fester, they ache,
like my broken heart which is bled to near death,
over and over, as I lay in this cold dark place alone.
I had to run from the pitchforks and torches.
Chased away, like a monster…
who once held the hand of a princess.
I still look for her in the moon,
wish for her in my dreams.
Come to me again my love in pardon,
or come to finish me off instead.
took a walk-in summer grass
picked a blade, made a sound
the air was country
wild strawberries sweet
like lazy cats we lay for hours
In the filthy hot, in the no time afternoons
sometimes on the highway to anywhere
I had never been, now I was
away from home, but home
In a holiday dusk
I remember watching mosquitos dance
we hid in quiet as the sun went to sleep
while children ran through the tall trees
like tiny beasts searching for their capture
there was so much laughter inside my heart
a new smile I learned to grow
pure place full of running and joy
town between the seconds
I’ll be back again someday