All posts tagged: death

The Skull

She’ll speak to the dead with her head on one side, Punctuate conversations with the roll of her eyes, For jokes loose their bite once the dust takes my teeth And laughter is dry without a tongue or lips and speech. Watch the cracks for my mind and I have long fell out, We were in for a while but overdue another bout Any apologies would be useless in this little war The maggots will mean the argument is lost for sure. Once the stone grows too cold she will bore of my grin But don’t put my skull back where I lie straight and thin Up here is a sun to bleach the old bones white And a silver sheen smile beneath the evening starlight My nerves frayed to cobwebs and caught the last draft I won’t feel the heat or ice like I did before in a past With dark empty sockets I’m staring on blind But it’s better than rotting satin and myself for all time. But while you perch on my …

HELP NEEDED!

Prologue Tara had watched her father smile as he tore the heart out of the King of Dondara’s chest. It had not been the first act of complete brutality she had seen, her father’s campaign had been saturated by similar murders and executions. Something had terrified her though, something in the old King’s eyes in the moment before Forbeath ended his life. He had looked at the eight year old girl standing in the doorway to the throne room, recognised her, and offered her pity. Afterwards her father had the body taken away to be burned, leaving strict instructions that the blood was to be left to dry. No one questioned the new King as he picked up his daughter, streaking her face with blood as he pushed her hair away from her face. It had been blonde then, the same colour as her mothers, but he made her dye it later on. He couldn’t stand to be reminded of his wife. “That is how you get what you want in this world Tara.” He’d …

The Green Armchair

She found it strange how memories can creep up on a person, like the ones that swarmed around her old student flat and the green armchair they’d kept in the sitting-room. Some nights, when the house was coated in the type of silence that arrives once the night had persuaded even the most stubborn to go to bed, she would find herself leaning back against the familiar faded leather. Her fingertips traced circles in the ink stains that decorated the arms and she could close her eyes and hear the music and laughter as her boys sprawled themselves across the room. Danny was always last one to come in, relegated to the floor since the few seats they’d had would already taken. He would lounge against the cluttered coffee table; legs sprawled out across the rug and his guitar resting in his lap. He was their music, the one who could pluck mismatched notes and twist them into tunes that wound themselves through you. She had tried to repeat them to someone else once, but …