Current Residence: When I live in a place for more than a handful of months, I'll let you know.
Former Residences: Montreal, QC
Los Angeles, CA
And various towns within Massachusetts
Some of my favorite songs.
Dog's RequiemHer theories cannot withstandDog's Requiem by Craazhy
this screaming fire weighed deep,
below the heart, nor a liquor quench
what keeps the earth against his feet.
Within himself what man would find
which his condition does not abate?
Two halves once kept both complete
made light by who stayed late.
Daughter of CharlemagneWine spills from the broken skin;Daughter of Charlemagne by Craazhy
the blood replaced to rid the thought.
Engaged to the death are those who forsake the touch of her.
Amalgam of purpose. Dark, enchanting eyes.
Look here to the burning hand, monk,
and not to the paradise of your mind
wherein a paladin sits on the shade of an oak in the South of France
blessing the children with words from her pages.
RainforestThe trees are made of water—Rainforest by Craazhy
clear and quivering beneath the weight of gravity,
waiting for time to take a step in any direction.
Nature's whisper floats along the western winds.
Her gentle, musical voice can only sound like pain.
The Moonlit WinterThe king, egg-headed and with the voice of god;The Moonlit Winter by Craazhy
he will be disappointed.
Empty space will fester in the throne room by the columns,
beige with marble, scarlet with drapery, gold with gold
where a decade's stains of opiates and fermented fruit juices linger.
A hint of king's mother's ashes in the sweet, red wine.
His Majesty's music cannot compare to what waits in the pines.
His audience would not suffice.
Usurped by love,
the king bellows his melancholy melody.
Sweeter sounds carry gentle notes from beneath the aurora borealis
belonging to what has reignited the beat of a dying heart.
What fills the sky with snow,
brings earth to the foot of man
and radiates the light of the moon throughout.
The king will be disappointed when, in the moonlit winter,
while northern winds sing of the star-cross'd,
snowflakes are veiling their intimate embrace.
LunaticI haven't always been like this. I was pretty normal as a teenager. Moody, rude and inseparable from my Nokia phone and Claire's Accessories bangles. Much to my parents' glee (and my personal chagrin) I didn't do at all badly at school. Three Bs in A-Level English, Psychology and Maths. I did one year of a Sociology degree before deciding I was fed up with exams and packing it in. Six months later, my problems started.
I was just shy of twenty, living in a studio flat four minutes from Woolwich Arsenal, with a maxed-out credit card, a library of takeaway menus and a Russian hamster called Mojo Jojo. I was working in the canteen at Belmarsh Prison, dishing up slop to a delightful assortment of Category A offenders. The Puberty Fairy had given me cleavage you could hide a pencil case in, so I was expecting the leery comments from the inmates. What I wasn't expecting was the day one of them bit me.
"That must have given you a real shock. Why don't we talk about it?"
I shrug. The man acros
the science of sleep.i don't sleep anymore. or at least i don't think i do. it's one of those things i stopped keeping track of like the number of words that make my mother cry (cancer, lists). if i'm being honest, i stopped sleeping (maybe) around the time i started thinking in a series of parentheses.
because i don't sleep, my arteries demand too much air (oxygen, clean) from the space outside my window. i make my room my heart, cold. it fills with a wind only bricks can breathe, an ice only soil is willing to withstand. i am winter's soul.
the world becomes a different place when you stop noticing sound (mute, black and white film) and start noticing every movement your bones, your muscles and the acid in your organs make. you start twisting your spine to imitate the birds spreading through the branches like cancer and you force your fingers to bend in unnatural angles to stop the shaking. but aren't we all just mocking birds (mockingbirds)?
when you stop sleeping, your body becomes the experiment and y
Tea BrownIt was all about finding those edges where the shore met
took a trip at first, a little dip to test the water, tea-brown and murky
but swimming was easy and keeping one hand on land
was like trying to climb a mountain of sand
and the tide, a rip, took us out to sea
It was all about keeping your head above the water
because you'd never see the monsters underneath in that lightless place
but they could only get you when you got tired or
when it got too hard to escape that place
deep-space diving got dangerous
It was all about coming up for air to fill your lungs
and trying to keep the hair out of your eyes even though you couldn't see
it felt safer, like running at night, faster and silent
but the only way was down and deep
with all the added weight
It was about remembering what floating was like back when you could always
put your feet down and walk out when you were done swimming
or when the water got too cold or when you just needed
to get someplace dry but now every direction is
Imperator - Chapter 1: ShiftThey call me Valen.
That wasn’t my name always, I used to be someone else, I used to be something else. But that is my past, I try not to remember it, though of course I can never truly forget. I have pushed those memories to the back of my mind, behind dusty shelves, in dark corners. Those muddy memories that were once the best I had, now too painful to look at.
My new name is everything now.
Valen is both who and what I am.
* * *
Chapter 1: Shift
The scent of deer was strong in my nostrils. I slunk forward, belly scraping the damp earth, towards the source of the smell. I could hear them now, their small hooves pressing into the ground, the snap of a frond as a fern was crushed and the lap of tongues against water. I inched closer, carefully.
When they were in sight I paused again, hoping my dark gray fur would be enough to hide me from them. One of the deer twitched an ear, raising her head slightly, I pressed myself deeper into the earth and her wary g
Cheap VodkaAaron was gulping down his anger with cheap vodka, hiding from the world to drown in his self-induced sorrows. It was a routine, at times – fighting then drinking, drinking then fighting. It was as if he wanted it to happen. Today was no different, and the tears that ran down my face were a testament to how the day had gone. I had been beaten down by resentment; disgraced for having an opinion. I knew, at this moment, he hated me. And yet, I loved him. Don’t ask me how or why, but I did, and I wanted to marry him for some god-forsaken reason.
We had been together for over two years, and I felt it was time to make that commitment. The night I brought it up, he began ranting at me again. He asked me "what difference would it make for us" and "why should we pay for something that wouldn't affect the nature of our relationship?" I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted to be myself again; not living in worry about losing him to someone else because I
The Library“This has always been my favorite room.” Greyson's heavy boots echoed as he circled around the room. Aside from his footfalls, the rest of the extravagant home was silent. He gingerly hooked his finger into the bindings on the old books that were so carefully placed on the ancient bookcases, caressing the spine on each one. “Even as a young child, I loved this room. Uncle Damascus would tell Lydia and I the most adventurous stories in here. Father told us not to listen to his tall tales and that Damascus wasn't his real name, but it's the only one we ever had for him. I'm not even sure how he got the nickname.”
His eyes flickered around the room. The dark wood paneling and floor to ceiling bookcases weren't the only attraction. The second floor of the library had ornate stained-glass windows. Each depicting a different vision. Uncle Damascus once told Greyson that each Master of the house designed
blueberriesi drew a bath
but my pores were so large they soaked it up,
then you hugged me
and i could not breathe.
my legs seized up
and the nettles burnt like own-brand coffee
but the sky was swaddled mauve,
hugged by the mother of purple
and pearly round the red brick
my insides feel like water
because of all the strawberries
and i love having just a tummy -
a clean womb is thing of beauty
hot earlobes burning at dawn,
i bake up my body but just the one,
you said thirty and i turned banshee
no blue and pink here: my insides are a vacuum
opulence is mine and i am velvet
smooth and indulgent like a blueberry
my little toe wiggles,
smug and alone
innocent blueberry charmi start bleeding as you do
thighs thick as shea butter
trembling like iguana eyes
bleeding red kite with a fury
i weep soullessly
pumpkin season falling from the trees
ageing me, ashes skirting the roads
scampering along like thieving squirrels
i feel the pond green shot of sleep as you do
the cold metal chunk of tuna meat slap my face
as you do
snakeskin books gleam back at me
a sick chandelier joke that catcalls viciously
a life spinning like fox fur bent into wool
youth of june spilling out black smudges of shame
childish shame, cutting corners to the next decade
let me sleep through the sharp edges
i carry myself through the bleeding