Noise. Blaring, repetitive strains of ‘It’s a Kind of Magic’ punctuated with the loud screams and shrieks of exhilaration or laughter. People push in on every side, moving masses of colours and sounds coming far too close and towering tall. Flashing lights in cold darkness, lighting up misted breath and steam from the food trucks. … More The Fair
Why do my thoughts not Fit, to rhyme and Pentameter and verse? Why must they drag blunt and Too long for subtle sounding wording Or graceful metaphors? My thoughts are not flighty Not hard to pin down But hard to make pretty And musical Always an irregular beat too long.
“It wasn’t that bad.” I tell myself, looking at the girl who ended her life when I didn’t. “He never hit me.” I tell myself, watching the woman talk about how she feared for her life when he raised his fist. “Sometimes he was good to me.” I remember as I justify the times that … More Comparable
That fluorescent pink tinged feeling, The way people look from the corner of your eye. The sounds of laughter and whispering you aren’t included in. Hot and shivery and prickly. A drop in the stomach that twists at the end. Unpleasant, queasy, unsteady, wrong. Lonely.
He lay there half buried in sand, A ruined structure that once housed a man, Now housing only bottom feeders. How he got there he can’t recall, No memories survived the fall. Who was he before? Was he a sailor on one of the ships That pass by over the abyss, Until storms … More Skeleton Dreaming
Every day I kill you. When I wake up alone in my own bed, I kill your clutching arms When I get dressed and leave my home, I kill the voice that kept me indoors When I see my friends, on my own, I kill your cancelled plans When I buy new clothes, ones I … More Self-Defence Plea
Popularity is temporary. That’s what people had told Greta in her teens. That she wouldn’t have the looks, the smile, the friends she had in school forever. Of course, Greta never believed them. Why would she? Her friends liked her for more than her looks and a convenient lunch buddy. They loved her. No one … More Temporary
It was a good sort of way to make a living. Saving damsels, slaying dragons. Once you got the knack of it, it was almost like a performance. Sometimes there needn’t even be any dragons. On the memorable occasion that the townsfolk of Little-Piddlington convinced themselves a dragon was living in their well, three and … More Previous Job Title: Dragon Slayer
The boy they found in the attic was skinny, with limbs as thin and limp as spaghetti. His eyes were big and round in the darkness and it was clear that any attempt to approach him would frighten him further. Instead they scrutinised him from the trapdoor, scanning his face and form for clues. He … More The Attic Boy
Aggie never really considered that ‘eye of newt and tongue of bat’ was impractical and probably more Shakespeare than Satanism. It wasn’t really something a normal person thought of. At least, not usually. Mixing weird ingredients together to serve to her cheating husband seemed more a petty act of revenge than a potion to ensnare … More Eye of Newt and Mouldy Strawberries
Spitfire Words 