Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The ghost was mending her torn heart with brilliant gold thread and shining silver wire. As the needle carefully crafts each and every tiny stitch, the broken pieces are slowly bound back together. It will no longer be the heart it once was, but it can still beat strong and pump blood (if she had any) and that will have to just be good enough (for now).

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


the dagger sliced deep into the ghost, knocking the wind right out of her
it was fascinating really

after all this time, she could still bleed

Dracula, your quiet silence speaks volumes
I know you, I know you

To console his everlasting loneliness, Dracula acquired a companion. A tiny yellow finch that to this day still remains unnamed.
(Who could decide?)
His singing cage-bird companion delighted Dracula and provided him with joyful moments of awe and amusement. The emptiness lessened and that was a soothing consolation.

On an unassuming, very regular day, Dracula felt an urge, an almost subconscious telepathic request.
(Was the tiny unnamed finch communicating?)
Sweet freedom is what his feathered companion desired (and how could Dracula deny that pleasure?) He reached his cold icy hand out toward the door of the cage and released the latch. The finch cocked his head to the side and slowly hopped toward the newly opened exit. Perched at the gates of autonomy, he spread his wings to take flight. Dracula watched with curiosity, contemplating what his little finch would do with his new found independence.

It would be not a moment more that Dracula would discover the answer to his seemingly innocent question, as the unnamed finch took flight; he locked his position directly on Dracula. As it would seem, the affection Dracula felt for his friend was not returned.

The tiny yellow finch flew for his face and attacked Dracula, feverishly pecking at his eyes. Dracula stood (stinging and bloodied), stunned and surprised.

For the first time in centuries.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Do not give up little ghost
You are closer than you think
Erase me and I will paint myself again
For this voice cannot silence me

Oh I'm scared of the middle place
Between light and nowhere
I don't want to be the one
Left in there, left in there

Saturday, November 26, 2011

the ghost watches the sad and desperate trying to dance (badly), numb and inebriated from too many watered down rum and cokes. she attempts to subdue her presence and limit the attention bound to come her way.

(what did you expect coming in here looking like that?)

filling the minutes with girl talk and colorful hand gestures she catches him watching her. eyes lock with purpose as he makes his way over to the ghost and she braces herself (here we go).

"want to dance?" he asks.
"yes, but not with you."

he ate my heart
he ate my heart out

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

hunny bunny

this ghost girl is full of surprises
she’s got moves you couldn’t imagine
if you’ve got a ticket, take the ride
cause you’ll go places, baby
it’ll be a one way trip
cause once you get there
you’ll never want to leave

And baby when it’s love if its not rough it isn’t fun, fun

Friday, November 18, 2011

toy with the ghost.
taunt her even.
what’s the worst that could happen?
she’s dead already.
go on, you know you want to.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

They met in a dark bar found in the seedy side of underworld. The ghost wore white and the zombie masked the scent of its rotting flesh with (what smelled like) a gallon of cheap cologne. The ghost mildly appreciated the effort, but mostly excused it because the zombie was mysterious and exciting (in all the wrong kinds of ways).

The pale flesh of the ghost’s cheek flushed as she drank and she was over taken with a dizzy lightheadedness. The zombie’s language became a stream of nonsensical words bound together with anticipation and intrigue. Hundreds of tiny strung multi-colored lights illuminated a halo around the unlikely couple and as intoxication consumed the ghost, the lights blurred, confusing and constraining any vision.

She shuts her eyes for the briefest of moments to catch her breath and steal a second of simple quiet. Before her was an open mouthed, tooth exposed zombie lurching forward. The ghost pulls back with a flinch and the zombie proposes, “Just let me take a little nibble, I promise it won’t hurt too much.”

Shocked and appalled, the ghost declined with a vicious force. With her back against the wall and a fearful breathlessness she watched the zombie slink closer and closer. It stood before her, filled with an irrational frustration and a desire to devour. All signs pointed to a fate in which the ghost was to be a meal (one of many, she was sure). She gasped and braced herself waiting for the first bite, (but nothing). Slightly confused, she felt a slight respite, until the zombie’s hand flew through the air and made hard contact with her face.

Stinging and burning spread across her cheek as she realized that not only did that fucking zombie slap her, but it was the first thing she had actually felt in months.

Not eaten, just publicly humiliated.

he hit me
and it felt like a kiss
he hit me
and i knew he loved me
if he didn’t care for me
i could have never made him mad
but he hit me
and i was glad

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Dracula brushed up against the ghost’s cool skin with the flesh of his bare chest. A rush of warm life returned to her vacant vessel and ignited a burning fire. A revival takes place, restoring all of the hope she was too afraid had been long lost.

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

feed your head

the porcelain ghost tripped over her shadow and fell down the rabbit hole (that was inside a rabbit hole, inside of another rabbit hole, inside a rabbit hole). the further she fell, the faster she fell. the deeper the depth, the darker and thinner the air. flapping and flopping, she gasped like the fish out of water (how unladylike).

the pressure begins to build and the pain increases, until she feels a pop. her porcelain veneer cracks. it is just a hairline fracture at first, then a deep dividing split. she bursts apart into a million sharp and tiny shards.

never to be together again.