Raw Earth Ink
spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Tag: Writer
Forty Years
Your name rests upon my lipsGentle and delicateAnd completely at homeBreathing out, you become a whisperBreathing in, you intoxicate meWhispers and heady rushes cascadeAcross my skinI’ve become alive and realSwallowing you, my belly swellsFor you are my manna and sweet honeyI am completely satisfied… Continue Reading “Forty Years”
The Higher Call
He dips his pen into the inkwell. Lifts it carefully, tapping it gently on the edge of the jar before moving back to his paper. His fingertips, forever stained with the heavy black ink, never hesitate. Not a moment passes where there aren’t thoughts… Continue Reading “The Higher Call”
Revolution (excerpt) by tara caribou
The following is an excerpt of my short story: Revolution, which you can find in the anthology Static Dreams Volume One. Inside you’ll find nine dark and twisted stories written by some amazing authors. I hope you enjoy this little snippet. Mark remembered the… Continue Reading “Revolution (excerpt) by tara caribou”
Nobody Reads REBLOG
Nobody really readsAnymoreAnd I sit here with my penAnd pageQuartz-white and achingWith the longing to be heardWith the longing for the scratchesOf life and love and painTo leave their trail Like the snails who emergeTo the freshness of the rainWith a purpose and a… Continue Reading “Nobody Reads REBLOG”
6:31am (Insomnia)
sitting in a pile of rubbish every piece of my life surrounding me I emptied the cabin piled it up out in the woods see, I know what you’re planning I looked through your phone you should use a better password you asshole you… Continue Reading “6:31am (Insomnia)”
Two Become
Fold myself into youLift me to your lipsPress me to your tongueSwallow me whole Two become one I gasp and I shiverSkin tinglingYour words brush my earSlip inside Absorb every atomMore than you or IImpart fragmentsRushed whispers We coalesceEnds and beginningsHeart tremblingSomehow togetherWe tara… Continue Reading “Two Become”
Notes from a Dying Woman
Tossed and turningI am worn out, wrung outLike a dirty dishrag done its workThe beauty of youth, fadedThe wisdom of time, unreachableA tear on the cheek, wastedReplaced by liars and outward appearances Love whispered from the corner of lipsAt convenient moments in the darkLove… Continue Reading “Notes from a Dying Woman”
Thoughts on a Windy November Afternoon
For nineteen years, I was beat and belittled into quiet submission. I was trained to understand I would never measure up. I laughed too loud, I talked too much, I read the wrong things, I didn’t fit in, I didn’t understand my peers. I… Continue Reading “Thoughts on a Windy November Afternoon”
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