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  • Untitled Document



    Beautiful nightmare

    Sink your bone-dagger fangs into my throat


    And know my every thought

    My every emotion

    Sink your claws into my mind

    And rip

    Spill my secrets upon the floor

    Wallow in my dreams

    ‘Til each deviant thought

    Coats you in scarlet

    Wear my sightless orbs

    As bobbles

    The pale hues

    As fine as gems

    Strip my flesh

    For your hearth rug

    place me

    One step closer to hell

    And yourself one step

    Closer to me

    Gather my bones to your bosom

    And hold them close

    Rock them as you would a child

    And from your tender mercies

    I will arise

    Remade and renewed

    In the image you create for me

    Lover or slave

    It matters not

    As long as some slim chain

    Tethers me

    To you               



    Untitled Document



    Chain smoking dreams on the hood of my car

    We paint dragons in smoke against an azure sky

    Waiting for the stars to chase the sun from too bright heavens

    Everything sparkles a little different after dark

    Tattered wings hide the fray in swirling neon

    We feign amusement in face of scorn

    Crawl home and puke our sins in porcelain bowls

    The dregs of last night’s misery oozing from our pores

    There’s no escaping the long shadows that creep across our lives

    Shadowing the fall of all we once held dear

    Is there no end to the pantomime

    This silent, black and white movie

    that makes us laugh at the broken clown?

    ashes fall like ruined fireflies

    A rain of white against tanned skin

    What careful disassembly of life fire brings

    Reducing form to ash, like our dreams

    The whispers of them still echo on nights like there

    When we lay beneath ancient moons

    remembering all we’d hoped to be




    Untitled Document



    Matchbox cars in faded colors
    Dented rows of childhood memories
    Matchbox houses in battered rows
    One hue slightly different from the others
    Sameness bleeds from manicured lawns
    From four door wagons in tiny carports
    Where last generations station wagons sit
    Old woman rocks in terrycloth robe and pink slippers

    About The Author

    Chrystal D. Herschel

    Chrystal D. Herschel writes. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs, and the falls. Ms. Herschel writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other things she knows and loves. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes it’s aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she is not writing she is taking pictures or curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.