Monthly Archives: August 2014


Snowy cold, I can play with my breath, catch

mystery on the tips….

Dark, warm, I try to find you, but you

trickster you, playing this game with me…

You hide where blood spills, drips, teases


On your throne, your blues watching me,

giving me privacy, but who are you….

will you come back?

Curtain pulled, back to slumber, never making

any sense in hallucinations……


Smeared on, hugging the

shadows that lick intimately

in their untimely demise….

Sugar coated decadence, mouth

turn into snowflakes, powdered

meth, I am your addiction….

My disguise, saintly slithers…

Down your chin, take a lick,

smudge me on pouty lips,

can I have a taste?

I make Heaven cloudy, misty eyed,

care to play in my rain?

You feel sickly sticky, my aftertaste

running down you, my vanilla sin…..


Throaty whispers invite me to

take my breath, promising

Heaven, a sick joke!

I take your hand, trusting

your angelic disguise as the veil

is pulled, no longer virginal…

I harden under sinful eyes, wanting to

float to you in orgasmic flutters….

Exposed, bare, only to YOU, so I close

my eyes, breathe deep, and you await





Falling from pearly gates, brushing with feathered

wings, immersing earth with ghostly breaths, dancing

for all to see…

My head lifts, our eyes meet, tongue lifts to play

along your frosty lips, angelic greetings….

Twirling, swirling, my cocaine sin, and so

I dine on you tonight….

Inside you rush, frosting my

veins, liquid funerals, raspberry dreams….

Veiled covers, no more a virgin as footprints

follow grassy paths of colored summer, I,

blooming before you….

Fallen, traced, outlined in afterbirth,

embroidered on Mary’s womb…

Earth and sky fornicate, birthing

misty apparitions…..


Warm tingles touch
sensitive nerves….

Oh, the rush to feed
the rising red, to
count the beat
that teases pulses…

To unwind mysterious
folds, to uncover
taboo voodoo as I
put a spell on you….

Sinister smiles play,
tease the edges of
seductive psychotics,
wanting to climb my walls,
paint Heaven….

You become straight,
stenciled, just apart
of my imagination……


Can you feel my heart breaking, chilled
eyes made of glass?

Kinda numb as destiny passed me long ago…
Fate forced me to become sickly twisted,
fevered, never to be well again….

Out there wondering are YOU with the
same ache, knowing love will never

I breathe, hoping to feel you…
again, like I felt so long ago….

I wonder if I could become light as
a feather as the sky reaches, forcing me
to become a star, YOUR star, then you could
gaze at me every night, and I could watch you
from high above….

I would imagine you sitting for hours
telling me your wishes and I would
burn as bright for you, the one that
would never fall….

I wish I could just close my eyes and
you would appear, but in the end, it
was not meant, you and I, I and you,
but somehow we know the other lays still
within the other, waiting for another
chance to dream, to twirl and dance forever
amongst the heavens, I and you, and you and I….

For now I am lost, and the ache is there, a
place missing just for you, a place where
only you could roam, and once
again I remember you and I and
I and you….

When I think of you, I feel like I am
dying inside, and I wonder why I can’t
find you…

I wonder if you can feel me so far away,
would you take me broken, fix me,
make me whole, like I loved so
long ago….

I feel as if I can’t breathe, wondering if
you would catch the air that surrounds,
bring me to life, lift me light as a feather,
up and away, never apart ever again,
you and I, I and you…..

Luke Atkins

Film, Music, and Television Critic

social underground



A Student Literary Journal

hands in the garden

reflection + romance + release

Diary of a Psychokiller

take a trip with me to the darkside


Rippling Juices Of The Bright Eyes


Thoughts on an ever-evolving life


. . .can you imagine?

During the days in which I choose to conform, I do so with a specific feeling in mind that I want to achieve. A sort of climax that I aim to reach. A feeling effortlessly maintained between the ages of 6-9 and again between the ages of 13-15, when being a girl was simply one of the numerous ways of being.


Views of a Dandelion Girl

Tshombe Sekou

Poetics & Rumens


Paranormal Author, Artist & Empath. Follow Sheila on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram! @sheilareneeparker