I always stay too late. I am always the last to leave, The one left to taste the soured wine Passed in frantic effort To regain the spirit, Get burnt by the embers Of hysterical bodies Trying to rekindle the longspent fire. Last to leave And first to come off that high Brought on by either ethers or ethos First to sniff the stale smiles that linger in the air Long after the fleeting fancy That brought them has left. I always leave too late, And as I totter home, I am always emptier in the dying hours Drained from…
Flash Fiction Friday #35: Rites Of Passage
First fff written for the new year. (not the first given eh… this one is a good 2 and half weeks old…. but it was hard to find something that wasn’t dirty.…) fff#35: (inclusion) spank, drank, thank, stank, rank “Drink it nah boy!” Jason hesitated. The clear liquid in the purple plastic cup stank. In fact, it smelled almost exactly like the methylated spirits his mother had used to clean his grazed knees last month. The same mother who would deliver the spanking, no, it was safe to say he would receive a cut-ass for this, if she found out…
Flash Fiction Friday #22: When I Drink
fff#22: (starter) when I drink (ah find d permalink! plus the link for the blog itself is HERE. also, i don’t drink. seriously). when i drink, the warmth trickles down my throat, settles in my tummy for a moment, then rushes off to curl my toes. the warmth then moves to my head to cloud my judgment, heighten my thoughts, and dull the reasons why i don’t think about them. the warmth then envelops me, heats the tips of my ears, then whispers into them, and tells me i’m invincible, and so i am. but eventually the warmth dissipates, the toes…