Category: Writings

Will this scar? Will this stain? Triumph marked by the thought – the regret? – of a mistake made. Will it burrow? Or will it fade? Price of the struggle left on skin hasn’t washed away. Am I scarred? Am I stained – stained with this remnant of red?

She noticed his hesitation.  Usually, he would confidently stride to the empty seat in front of her, plop down and begin talking about whatever topic tapped his interest that day.  Today, he hesitated – some internal debate holding him back.  After a quick plan of action decided upon, he sat down. “So, you made your…

She knows it’s a mistake, the direction she’s facing.  She may not know exactly what will happen, but she knows it’s a dead-end. She lies to herself. She hears the warnings, sees the signs.  But she’s fighting against them, against herself – the perpetual struggle between emotion and rationale (and she questions why the two always…

She heard that he died alone and she wasn’t surprised. He closed himself off from the outside world; no ties, no allegiances. He was alone, just past her reach. And she wondered how he felt then. Was he scared? Or was he expecting it? With death on his heels, it was only a matter of…

String together your beautiful wordsand give me a rhyme to repeat. Put in the background a melodythat I can sing through the night. Write me that candlelight guitarlove song you once promised, and I’ll try to remember the kissyou left on my skin.

End of November Last night I saw a stardash across the city sky.And I forgot to makea wish for you. But then I remember andwonder if you’re still underthe same winter skythat holds so many dreams. The end of Novembernever felt so coldas it does now.

Torturero: Part II My cigarette smoke makesyour nostrils flare,distracting me from yournonchalance. I stare and wonder whyso much time was wastedtrying to be someoneI am not. Your words always pierced,your ears were always big;there was always something about youthat made me scared I started to resent allthat you seemed to be.Was it because Istopped worshipping…

I will believe the lieshanging on your lipsas you brush themacross my skin. Don’t let me wake upfrom this happy ending.Sing me a fairy taleto help me forget.

She turned around at the sound of the patio door opening and stared at him.  He was a shadow against the background of the darkened room.  As he walked towards her, she put out her cigarette to welcome the chance of embracing him completely. “Will you dance with me,” he whispered in her ear.“There’s no…

written August 27, 2004 The first cut is always the one she hesitates in making.  In that moment of hesitation, she realizes what she is about to do and knows that she can stop at anytime.  She knows that she can put back the eyebrow trimmer into the pencil case, turn off the light, go…