A jolt of electricity
Brought me to life
Or maybe I am still dead
But risen and too awake
For the forever-sleep.
Decomposing I was,
But walking as if whole again.
Ailments of souls
Can be compromised and healed
And they will question and meet fate,
To look it in the eyes,
Defying it in the way the dead can
when they stand and walk about.
My frown was turned down,
Backward and somehow
Whole and pure,
but also tainted.
Never have I felt so well
And I will never again
dwell with those worms
Who are so hungry.


Love said, “no.”

The silence is thick
Like the stale air of the embalming room,
The mutual fate of both you and I
When the Universe grows bored of us
All I asked was for you to see me
But you looked upon me

As if I were a blank canvas
And painted upon me portraits

of the ghosts of loves past,

projected upon me any sin you chose
But like a card trick,
Couldn’t you have let me pick a card?
Instead of choosing for me?
You could have let me decide
And your heart would have opened
Wider than the abyss

into which you have fallen

And I feel for you
As you should for me
Because none of us are truly free
Bound by life
Bound by love,

Strife and prejudice,
Bound by the sins ordained

by mythical creatures

who make all the decisions

And judgements for us
So we can’t be bothered to think
But if you could
If you were able
You’d have seen that love

Truly isn’t a fable,
A fairy tale intended to subdue and hurt you into a life you believe

will be worth living
But you let it die

and shame remains in its place
Because you could never see my face
Or trust my words and whispers,
Those words and small offerings
From those of love to fear
Of worship to cynicism
And they speak, now, of an existence
Empty and futile
And my heart rests in fragments
that may never agree to come together
For the memory of suffering etched upon their fibres
Lying as silent as death

awaiting us all.

I don’t hate you
I think I couldn’t,
For you are human

And you suffer, too
And You want to be loved
But have no idea how love works
And you could not see it

if it were standing eye to eye with you
You could not hear it if it were whispering it’s secret sacred syllables into your ear
No amount of time could result in your understanding,
Warped long before I was old enough to hold you
Even as I’m sure I must have dreamt it
A hundred times,
Or maybe my vision was fuzzy
And I dreamt of no one
Certainly no one loved me in my waking hours, either

I, too, know only loss and grief,
Who I could count as close friends of mine,
The difference between the two and you
Is that grief is consistent, and loss is to be expected,
And I always know what to expect of grief,
And loss is nothing more than a thief,
I can expect loss to break my heart

many times over,
Stealing those I love away from me
I never said I was a perfect mate,
Nor was that my purpose for existing
I only ever said I love you

and will love you forever, and I do
But fear and shame and pity have taken more than I could offer
Nothing is left but the milk of regret,
The only stable in my diet,
The only aspect of my own life
Over which I still have control.
Make no mistake,
I’d choose a life of spinsterhood

and cat food over another you
All the love I fed you
Lies in the gutter
And self-doubt is all that remains of me.

What is hidden in silence….
Is what you were deaf to for more than 11 years.
You could have been a God in my heart,
And an entire Universe
in which I could have thrived

I saw you
buried among the dead
And I prayed for the gift of necromancy
And love said, “No”

Before the Song

Perhaps the end is the beginning,
Or maybe hearts do not get their amends.
So they spurt and sputter,
As butterflies flutter and fall
to the ground, dead
Without the faintest sound.
yet lying fully exposed.
Dead air and a mist rising
Destroying all those little dew drops
Reflecting softly
the decaying remnants of kisses from there to here…
Everywhere is little reminders,
On the path
leading back to that shame.
The air is so stale
And the world crumbles,
and there’s no oxygen
in which to breathe…
The wounds
of this injured one,
Her silent weeping..
In this soundless void…
Until, ever so softly,
Gentle warm breath
And a voice at her ear:
“Ephemera, kill the silence.
Make it sing.”

William Graves

William Graves was much too busy to die today. He was just two weeks away from making Gloria Rose his wife. The two were a fine young couple. But not now. Not today. Today was the day that ended any plans for the future laid together by William and Gloria.  

For the time being, I am the only person who knows that William will never return home to his fiancee. That William will never again show up for work. That his poor mother who suffered to push this wretch into the world in the first place, continued to suffer to allow this fool to survive and thrive in a world that would place no more importance on his being than it would to clean the excrement from a dog’s ass off the bottom of its shoe, would never again welcome her son home for holidays nor would she receive his weekly phone call home.  

No.  Not now.  Not after today.  

Here I am. With my auto-pilot breathing. My unrequited love. My plans intact. My recalling the memory – my – memory of William Graves. My regret that Gloria Rose will worry when William fails to call, fails to come home to her. When she has to call in a missing person’s report. And weep when William, weeks from now, has yet to call or return to her, and with no explanation. No news from William. No news of William. 

No. Not after today. Today is the day William got the literal kind of cold feet.  

This morning, William woke as usual. Readied himself for work.  Maybe he kissed Gloria goodbye. Got into his practical black Subaru legacy at 6 am.  He cautiously backed out of his driveway and drove away for work.  A thing he’d never have to do again. No. Not after today.

Here I am. Keeping record. My own historian. I am alive. Too busy to die just like everyone else. Like William was. I was much too excited to sleep. Much like many kids are on the night of Christmas eve. I didn’t sleep. So I didn’t wake. No. Not today. Today I was ready. Today was the day I granted Mr. Graves his leave of absence



Time is wasting…well…our time is wasting…but Time…Time is moving forward tirelessly…effortlessly…no matter how stuck in the bowels of life one may be…time keeps moving…It can give no thought to the misery it leaves behind it nor the triumphs….times is long, but we are not…Time will soon be gone from me like a vague dream…The Universe, it must be cracked…that feeling you have now…right now…that is it…

New Owners of Home With Dead Lady in Attic Wall Better Detectives than Detective Inspector 

Police Detective Jason Fay said the new owners were a bit worried because of the body. “Was it someone who was killed and stuffed in the wall, or did they accidentally pass away by ending up in the wall?” he said.

Really, detective? It must have been such intense suspense and indescribably enlightening to have been the one detective inspector to detect upon inspecting that this couple was, indeed, worried. I would never have guessed it myself. The societal norm in General is that of finding human remains in the house one has just newly acquired. In fact, half of realty purchases are not for the realty but for the prize(s) inside! By prizes inside, I really mean the body, or if you’re super lucky, bodies!   The noobs actually wondered if the person who used to be the bones that they found was murdered or had died when they somehow accidentally got trapped inside the wall? Wow. Okay. It’s obvious that old lady wedged herself inside that attic wall intentionally  so that whoever bought the house next would be able to find a really cool prize in their new home and really get his or her money’s worth out of the old place.