Bedtime Story

Brittle-boned and feral-eyed, she sits atop her stony world, Fleecing her wolves for the rest of the story.

And those Devils make the sweetest playmates for the hollow-hearted girl, the girl whose Daddy nodded off before the story was finished, the girl whose Daddy slipped out of her room and away to Mexico to plant his rosegardens and finish his story for precious new daughters that never play with Devils and never grow up twisted and lonely, like the raven-girl, humming her birdsong dirge to her flock and waiting for the surrogate that’s going to fill those big, big holes and Daddy’s big, big shoes;

That girl, stroking those wolves and counting the days of dry cheeks and sugar smiles on her idle little hands.

I’m  tugging at the rope but Daddy isn’t coming, no hero, not now.
And my heat must have a spell behind it’s sweet ass ’cause those wolves keep fucking circles in my wet grass,

but for now I’d settle for just a story (or two).

 

 

 Oh, the tragic little worlds we build when we’re half asleep and half mad. ~13

 

 

“Oh, a storm is threatning my very life today,
If I dont get some shelter-
Oh yeah, Im gonna fade away”

                                                Rolling Stones “Gimme Shelter”

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One Reply to “Bedtime Story”

  1. Writing

    often it is the only
    thing
    between you and
    impossibility.
    no drink,
    no woman’s love,
    no wealth
    can
    match it.

    Charles Bukowski

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