Daily Quote: I Don’t Like Being Out in the Dark Now

“But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks: there are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll say, and so say I . . . Yet, still, I don’t like being out in the dark now; and I don’t like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange.” – Emily Brontë, from Wuthering Heights

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Momentarily Sane (a poem)

My lover chisels away rough edges
Around the center of my heart
But sharpness still remains

I cannot contain darkness sometimes
Lying on concrete in the cold dawn
There’s a man standing above me
I reach for the rosary he carries

He offers salvation in a kind way
Not like the charismatic preachers
I used to know in traveling days
He tells me, softly, that Jesus
Turns his back on no one, including
Pimps and hustlers with their
Scarred faces and crooked teeth

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Hush, Little Baby (flash fiction)

Halloween may be over, but that doesn’t mean we should stop reading and writing creepy fiction! Here’s a piece of horror flash fiction about a child screaming in the woods and a scary encounter. It’s about 630 words and has an estimated reading time of 2 and half minutes. Let me know what you think!

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The Pain of Living (a poem)

My skull is packed with worms
They slither and they squirm
But let’s be serious now
Let’s scamper in the streets and prowl

When the machines fell from the sky
I got a burning sensation in my eyes
The satellites crashed through our roof
And the pain of living was quite acute

The preacher told me God was dead
He’d supervised the killing himself
Then he stood up and declared
He was moving to a different realm

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Shadows and Me (a haibun)

The hand and the shadow. As the sun sets, light fades through the window. The angular shadows beckon me closer. I reach out with my finger, looking to meet my Shadow Self on the wall. Seeking to integrate those parts of myself I deny and push down. What happens when I touch the Shadow Self?

Hand seeks the shadow
Shadow reaches to the hand
My two selves’ touch

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Lurking (a poem)

Snakes lurk in fog,
slither in early-morning venom,
we’re obscure beasts,
unfit for mortal society;
we’re traitorous,
vapor leaks from depths,
covers fields of blurred symbols

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