Gnashing Teeth Outside the Chained Gates

Suck dog water, you itchy scum. I can’t believe your kind have survived this long. You probably hold not a clue how reviled you are, cushioned in your own delusion by a skull thick with illusion. I hope you choke. You fucking toad. You won’t get away with your hateful game too long. The wolvesContinue reading “Gnashing Teeth Outside the Chained Gates”

Who Couldn’t Love That Smile?

His cheekbones pronounced, his slight bristle of stubble, his brows immaculately-shaped, he positively glowed from the picture frame. He could have modeled. Perhaps not on the runway, for his demeanor was too humble, too approachable. He lacked the stark, cold angularity usually reserved for runway types – those exiguous flesh mannequins, paid to shut upContinue reading “Who Couldn’t Love That Smile?”

Princess of the Wastelands

I can hear her now from across the room: the princess, with doe eyes she believes she lives here this is her living room, and these are her people a party her party, perhaps and she’s doing her duty, entertaining guests until the music dies and the curtain falls – BSB

Hunting Ground

Lights shine artfully from towers that stab the night sky. That’s the key. The fill light seeps from lamp-posts and taxis and pedestrian cars. The darkness becomes the subject that’s framed in heroic personification. Alley-bound prowlers become protagonists in the urban ballet of apathy and compassion. Smoke emits from gutters to languish. Ambition puts rootContinue reading “Hunting Ground”

Every horror story has victims and monsters.

Some great mind conceived, in times self-obsessed upon creative genius, the horrid comedy unfolding moment by moment around us. We all, from the chattering masses of giggling girls adorned with glittered cosmetics, cosmo-politan branded attire, handbags and clutches, and fingernails; to the brash and brazen boys with wooden smiles, and plastic, remote controlled personalities;¬†we allContinue reading “Every horror story has victims and monsters.”