Tag Archives: book

The Girl On The Train

“I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.” ~The Girl On The Train; Paula Hawkins

~*~

The start was the year

The broken was the fall

The night was the fear

The murder was the call

Caught into a secret lie

The witness exchanged

In the blink of her eyes

Her perception changed

On darkness and vomit

Stalked a nuclear family

A crime witnessed writ

Eyes unfocus unreliably

Screaming for their life

And blood hits the floor

Twist that dulled knife

Burn down all the doors

As a love goes screwing

The confessions infest

A person goes missing

Dug into a ruined mess

When a heart runs wild

And the pain sets again

The suburbia is defiled

Alcohol always listens

It screams like the train

And burns down tracks

Of their mistaken pain

And a gruesome attack

On shattered memory

The suspense gets lost

Divorces, drunk sorry

And all that it has cost

The blackouts are gory

Stale violence so grim

Can’t tell the full story

Only the ones on skin

But pieces will unlock

And truth can be found

Of a nice liar that knocks

A mistress under ground

The start were the lovers

The broken were the sins

The night was the horror

And the murder was within.

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just another one of those rainy weekends

it was a weekend of

(the rain was pouring its love)

cat-eared headbands,

(my hair was being a nuisance)

cookie monster jumpers,

(which the breeze begged me for)

comfy warm socks,

(adorned with spangled butter stars)

soft bumblebee trainers,

(okay, it was more like slippers)

and a book and brewed coffee

(can’t have without the other, really)

dripping stories side by side

(of just another summer irony alive.)

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on bartering sins

wet pages of a book

yet not of your own tears

teeth and the crook

of expensive mortal fear

.

a shower of falling

hair, the strands you stole

and insults writing

on skins and stained wall

.

a wicked smile to

test your own patience

torn apart by you

for my liquid penitence

.

a sin for another sin

to pay for what i haven’t done

if mercy it shall win

both will cancel out each one.

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451

Fahrenheit 451—the temperature at which book paper catches fire and burns…” ~Ray Bradbury

~*~

4 days…

Dandelion tickles her soft chin

Montag, are you in love or not?

Childish star girl of evergreen

Dial watch face and whatnots

Life with you, in pretty whims

Until a beetle ran you over flat

.

Her liquid mercury eyes staring

Where did we first meet, Millie?

Her snowless island, yet hailing

Faux laughs of a parlour family

Life, with you, lacklustre feeling

Until a snake expunged toxicity

.

5 hours…

Mechanical hound, metal growl

What are fires, but clean lauds?

Captain, with a solid-set scowl

His knowledge, logically sound

Life with you, exhilarating goals

Until a dragon melts your ground

.

Brittle bones creaking with age

Books bleed pores, do you see?

The clever professor assuages

With green thimbles, philosophy

Life with you, easy plans staged

Until wolves chased relentlessly

.

1 lifetime.

A silver salamander button melting

Fill this sieve with sand for a dime?

A fireman with his joys misguiding

A forbidden hobby to pass the time

Life with himself, scary, confusing

Until books made him feel sublime

.

In a monochromatic dystopia, a future glowing bleak

Yes. Chicago. Beauty. Yes. Can’t. Answered his insights

Wars waged in twenty seconds, and families of static

Watching butterfly pages curling, words burning bright

Life as Book of Ecclesiastes, walking with his fellow literaries

I’ll save this passage for when we finally reach the city lights…

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Quiet Reeducation (in the dead of the night)

There is a fancied quiet reeducation

Borne by the dying ember flames

In a gaily evening of dull recreations

To which the knocking cloudburst dare pertains

.

A strange set of ponders came visiting that night

Rapping sharp within the chamber door of my mind

And this began the lesson, a slight shift of vision

By the obsidian visitors out on their mission

.

The softest glance at a faded polaroid

A swift knowing glare at the ceiling paint

Is my active mind rushing to simple paranoid

Or am I just dumb enough to be a saint?

.

A plaintive sip at scalding liquid black

To which my unkindly thoughts wish to hack

A finger burns, dipped in the grey shadows

Until in the butter candlelight it mellows

.

An absentminded stare at the leatherbound book

All tan pages and copper lines and senseless hooks

Yet dare that crepuscular midnight filled with stars

Entertain my empty heart of flurry jagged scars

.

Those enchanting lights dance fickle and merry

That moon of mirage winking back like a fairy

And doth faithful silence hold my whispered nevermores

Trance frozen till that slipping book falls upon the floor

.

The whistling train of thought nay stops for rundown stations

Wonderful whimsy intertwining amidst aberrant abominations

Yet, I lean back, sighing, and content my mollified soul with this quiet reeducation

Borne by the dying ember flames, and snuffed out with rest like all my troubling notions.

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