You left me to hold the hard parts of our life and the night, and I still try to mute the sound of my own heart breaking, but it breaks again and again, over and over until the shards of it climb from my chest and pull my lungs from my throat, my lungs that … Continue reading The Hard Part of the Night
I hope this life decides to be kind to you, I hope it rings your bells and sets off fireworks in your name. I hope you’re a fucking light show. But if my hopes fall short and you are left in the dark, I hope you know you are loved, and I hope you know … Continue reading Light Show
I wonder what a quiet mind, full of light, would feel like; and if my memories could grow cold, or if you would turn hot, outside of the whispers in the shadows you have only ever known as home. Softly now, my darling. Darkness has withered the walls of this place, and it is heavy … Continue reading In Crimson Screams
I don’t know if I will ever know the truth of us, and what could have been, what should have been, what will never be. But I do know I loved you and I think you may have loved me too, and most days that is enough. Nicole Lyons 2017
When autumn winds have stolen summer’s last kiss I will find you again in my dreams; over and over past thousands of Thursdays, until I can meet you under grey skies and flaming trees. © Nicole Lyons 2017
And sometimes these words, they save me, but sometimes, most times, they kill me, syllable by fucking syllable, they rip me to shreds. © Nicole Lyons 2017
I feel what you feel, and I know what you know, and in another time or another place, on every other plane of existence, I would run anywhere with you.
The shadows are making their way to my door again, and my stoop has been painted in grey, but I know that soon the grey will give way to the blackness and I will spend another season crushing bricks and sprinkling salt in every corner of my fragile mind. © Nicole Lyons 2017
I have God in my words and the devil in my ear, and a sister, who keeps telling me to find my magic. © Nicole Lyons 2017
I have broken my own bones, splintered them and placed them into bags, dozens of bags of me, and I have thrown them from the windows of speeding cars in hope that you will find me after the crash, somewhere where the good girls would never go, littered between back alleys in the dark parts, … Continue reading The Good Girls Are Always Found
Rhymes and Reasons
Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"
presented by Kindra M. Austin
the maiden, mother and caffeinated crone
Poetry and prose by Basilike Pappa
