In the night like a ghost nothing is ever seen premeditation a superpower skewing the real, while dancing with the devil visiting worlds very far apart the sky in one, a sky the other could be anywhere envisioned on the spot in the sweat, in the sins, in the climax flying close to the sun is a high like no other a racing heart is a drug buried deep in the same shadows but one beam of light and it all goes away the curtain comes down no more beautiful horizon no more escape
Go ahead, tell me one more time that you don’t know where he is, and I am pulling this trigger. I’m tired of games. You know, it’s actually convenient you wearing that mask. Now I won’t risk getting too much of your ugly face all over my new black marble floor. My wife hates when I do stuff like that. She’ll be pissed if she finds out I brought my work home. Only, this time she won’t be too hard on me. Because you my friend, were stupid enough to come here on your own free will. This is sort of like delivery for me. What the hell were thinking coming to my house anyway? To my private masquerade party? Then, have the nerve to drink my expensive booze and hit on my ladies. They are all on my clock you know? You got…
I walked a path less travelled,
on a road covered in red.
Evergreens bowed before me,
to welcome back an old soul.
Draped, lonely…in silence.
A still that became my only friend.
There, my worries were sheltered,
protected by a forgotten trail.
That journey became ritual,
to protect me from blended reality.
I ran as soon as the sun would let me,
far away from the stranger who looked just like me.
There is nothing like keeping a deja vu in your back pocket. Easily triggered by the stimulus that surrounds you. Today, a walk to the edge of the harbour and my whole life flashed back. All it took was the smell of saltwater, the touch of a rains mist, and wonderful memories came flooding back as strong as the approaching tide. A picture is wharf a thousand words. – Ash
Frustrated because that momentum you have with writing has now been sabotaged by the process of editing? Stop and take a break. Allow some time for your creative session to cook. Even days. Fresh eyes are kryptonite to the backspace key. You can correct me if I am wrong. – Ash
Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. There are two of them. Identical, except one of girls has a wound over her left collarbone, she’s been shot and now on foot. If we find and contain her first, we’ll have a better chance of drawing out the stronger one. She won’t risk another fight, her sister’s too injured. OK, we’re almost there, I need eyes trained on the treetops and more on that corn field over there. That’s her last known position. Stay sharp and remember, we don’t have a huge window to pull this off people. If the two of them are together for more than fifteen minutes, the wounded sister will heal. If that happens…God help us!
When I am battling writer’s block, I surround myself with all types of creativity. I read, I listen, and I watch. It is the inspiration of others that allows me find my own. – Ash
Writer’s block is like being a marionette with clipped strings. The only way you are going to get moving again is to start putting together some lines. – Ash
my lines are barren of words no one pays attention anymore I walk away to try and heal change those emotional bandages stop the bloody hurt when my lyrics are finally gone so will I like a blank page…empty death poetic is where these sonnets will live on for stanzas from the grave bare the richest fruit it’s then you see how poison being alive feels to a poet when from lips when it can’t be turning to the cover to remember from a photo remember how abandoned I was with an audience how forgotten I would become unless I use creation to keep me alive I’ll always be alone with my words even if they are never again repeated don’t repeat them for me
I walked a path less travelled,
Earth To Ash 