Prose
Stained
What the hell happened to you, faithful, floundering boy? You took every woman you could seize as an admission to your own court of indecency. Why? How? You took me to your mother, you said I was yours, you took me to your father, you said I was yours... was yours until I saw you. You took my special place, you discarded all of me; I prevailed. Your eyes were always positioned, ready for your next prey; I was keen and could smell your carrion well before its take. What happened to you good Catholic boy, why did you long for drunken nights with cloudless aims? How did you think life would be when I walked away, albeit unwillingly? You seek the reassurance that you have meaning in another's arms, yet failed to know the seed you sowed, still you have never grown? I heard you were alone, by the city docks, looking back to the sunset where once we swam as one. Please, find the message of a sailor's dream, pick up the bottle I have dreamed. An ancient scroll I present; your child is broken, your brother dead; and I was once your love. The world you shared was in greed; barren you live with all we heed. Sorrow beckons us all to mourn, yet old lover you were never born. Take and taking more and more, the bottle to baste your heart to mourn. You stole my trust, my belief in good, you gave me nothing, nothing, nothing hood. I am old, I should be better, but what you did scarred me forever. I want to face you and say you were wrong, yet my being now is much too strong. I do not wish you to perish or rot; I am in heaven and you are not.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Vultures
Vultures all That is our culture now They fly in for a bite Once they’ve got what they need They take flight Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
I Was Okay with Being Coveted Property
It started early in our relationship. I was naive. My boyfriend and I went to a married friend’s (we’ll call him John) house for a small get-together with a few others to have a cook-out. The friend started to play “footsie” with me under the table. I didn’t return the affection. I was confused. I smiled; sure it wasn’t his intention. His gorgeous and kind wife was right there! I was flustered to think he would be so bold.
By KJ Aartila2 years ago in Poets
Lovely. Top Story - February 2024.
Held. I wiped tears from your eyes; we played your favourite song sung by Etta James. "At Last", your frail frame unfolded into my strong heart beat, not missing a step we made it almost to the end, before collapsing. Anguish pushed through a slight glimmer in your grey eyes, once again fever swept over you; I wiped your brow with a cool cloth, then like white chocolate in the afternoon sun, you melted away. Our love was a last dance, a promenade of bashful memories, tender as the fledgling free from it's warmth, flightless, featherless, starving, then fed. I longed for one dance more, yet time stole us in a heated breath; at last, you will be, forever lovely.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
