A frozen touch where she walks
amid the claws of the winter trees.
While she wanders weak and cold, she whispers to the sky,
breathing into the stars a trail of fog.
Could you ever love me? Continue reading “Abandoned”
Bored. That’s how he feels. He cuts his business cards into rectangles and proceeds to fold them into ninja stars. A trick he learnt from the internet on another slow day where he was just as he is now. Bored.
He is surrounded by shelves of antiques, years of history. Valuables, collectibles. Porcelain dolls once held dear by young children. The power and the spirit of the people who owned these possessions should move through him like a great wave. No. Instead he sighs loudly in boredom. Continue reading “A Doll Speaks”
I couldn’t fly, I crashed into you.
Arms outstretched, feathers where there were none,
close your eyes tight enough and you can feel their gentle touch,
the kiss of air. Continue reading “Kiss of Air”
I wish you were beside me.
I wish I could hold you the way I hold you in my heart, tangled in my limbs.
Face reality, is what they said to me, those voices,
they can be silenced by my words. Continue reading “I Wish You Were Beside Me”
She wore a large black, straw hat with a red ribbon, that’s what he first saw and what he first remembered. It was freakishly large, he thought, and perhaps in another life it wasn’t meant to be a hat. It was meant to be a roof. A tent. Shelter for the broken hearted, anything but a hat. In this life it framed her face perfectly and outlined her delicate cheeks and jawline. In this life, it was meant to bring out beauty. Continue reading “The Bench”
“He is going to die,” Death says to me. I follow his gaze to a man who appears to be in his late twenties. He’s sporting shaggy black hair and a leather jacket. The man smiles apologetically as he fumbles in his pocket for coffee money. I turn back to Death and with a raised eyebrow the first thing I ask is,
“Why?” Continue reading “Nox”
“I am the ultimate symbol of control. I have the ability to carry life and take it away. I had you captured from the start, although you didn’t know why. When you took away my control, you ended your own life. In that sense you have no one to blame but yourself.” Continue reading “Blue Eyes: A Rendition of ‘Bluebeard’ by Charles Perrault”
Cat M. Lalonde 