Something

Sometimes swollen from stress, she stifles a smile strained and scared to share some semblance of self-satisfaction.

Starts and stops string a song of life standing as a solitary sign, annoyingly stoic and submissive. A vast sea of sound is situated with only strangers strapped in their own seat; saddled with their own stride.

Surrounded with sterling chauffeurs; suffocated in a facade of sugar and spice. A day dream of circumstance contrasts who you thought you should be; sunbathed in shiny bronze of slippery skin.

Something surreal sifted slowly into the psychosomatic reality of sweet truth. A shift of self-discovery and consideration of something sinuously beautiful, even if aloof with stubborn scandals that skip along a sidewalk of surrendered seams of hope.

Saturated with tears, a soul swallows strands of soft string; styled for she that would embrace her strength and let go of the sinister sense of succumbing to a stagnant strangulation of self.

Stars streak through a scattered sky. A stern lip stings with a piercing slip of spiked tongue; split with spite. Sand drains through steep cylinders of scoured time while you shout at the top of your lungs scratching for something simple.

Screaming into silence where only shit moves in the bowels of your social media. Certain sob stories shall sink in making way for a strapping scheme of survival, The surface is smooth as the sinking moon, astounded by the sun that celebrates.

Stealthy silhouette slinks into shadows of insanity; swept into smithereens, a sultry tone smells of salty slang. Certainly.

Published by darren thompson

hello invisible people, I have lived well and continue to live well enough. I hope the same for you. Writing during a pandemic with catastrophic wildfires, hurricanes, economic collapse, political strife, and toxic air means one tends to be pretty sedentary. I am reminded of our last trip to Cartagena, Colombia and the gang of sloths hanging out in the trees. Funny, I don't think sloths are ever behind schedule though. The book, FALLEN, is near completion. I know I've said this before, but I am definitely in the final lap with it. Though, I have not settled on the publishing or marketing of it, yet. I am not even sure how I will use this website. Admittedly, I've been writing on this bit for the better part of ten years. My mind has been wrapped around some weird urban sci-fi-fantasy junk. Feels like a twisted premonition of what is happening today. On another creative front, I am setting up a new website called: vomitpages.com which I am kind of excited about. These are writings and ramblings and musings of life when I am out of the flow with writer's block. There projects within projects there. Oh, I live in the Columbia River Gorge of the PACIFIC NORTHWEST. My characters are way more interesting. thanks.

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