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Love Letters
I made a claim that I could write anything and two female friends on Facebook challenged me to write them love letters. It was actually rather difficult considering I don't know that much about them nor have I had any sexual relations with them.
Mi Amore,
I long for a time when I can lay with you and caress your skin. When I can breathe you in until your scent intoxicates my surroundings. Until the smell of you and the feel of your skin can make the earth melt around me. I crave endless sessions where I can run my fingers through your hair. Where I can trace the contours of your body until I can draw it with my eyes closed. I desire a momen
A Good Day to Write and The Blues
It's day's like today that make me glad that I don't kill myself.
That came out wrong.
I don't mean to alarm anyone. I think if you've never had a moment where you wanted to kill yourself that there is something wrong with you. There has to be. Either that or you've just led a fantastic life for some reason and in that case I am jealous and thereby want to murder you…no offense.
The past few months that thought has ran through my head several times. Until recently that is. I don't know particularly know why those thoughts stopped. They just have. And I'm not going to debate it really. I haven't met anyone new. I haven't gotten a new j
A Good Flow
Aww man...I've been wanting to write. Guess all it took was to get to sit outside for a little bit and smoke cigarettes and drink a beer as I went. This one just flowed.
The Hitchhiker
Charlie stepped over the already burning body, the one that was crisped like burnt bacon, smoldering and bubbling, the one he had set on fire. He looked at the body, the hair still burning in little puffs, the skin cracking. He smelled the burnt hair, he listened to the skin pop, he felt the flame. Then he kicked the body of the nineteen year old woman in the face. The lips burnt back from the teeth provided no mercy as he repeatedly shattered them out. They
Just a Story
Into The Eyes of The Devil
Jeremiah stood outside of the coffee shop on a busy corner of a typical New York City street, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, his deep blue eyes on the time displayed on the board across the street.
It was 1:15 pm on a drizzly Monday.
He watched as the throng of people moved around him, the buzz of the cars as they drove by, taxi cabs swerving in and out of the traffic, tourists with maps in front of their face as they tried to navigate the roadways.
Some people were Christmas shopping, some were tagging little children along with them, others seemed engrossed in conversations as if t
© 2009 - 2024 deistbrawler
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