There is a well behind my house; I go there when I want to drown, when I want all the shit to sink away. You know, all that damn tenderness crap. It makes me weak, vulnerable—disoriented.…
Added by Erin Cole on May 19, 2010 at 1:08pm —
What. The. Fuck? Somebody. Do. Something!
Added by Erin Cole on May 14, 2010 at 1:53am —
I waited my whole life to meet you—I was half of you. It was April 1st, 1989…I tried not to think of irony of the date, if you were going to be who you were supposed to be—but who was that? You’d already missed too much, and though I suspected it then, it would turn out that you’d miss even more.
And you weren’t who you were supposed to be. I never expected anything of you, but at that moment, I did expect you to be you…and you couldn’t even do that. I said good-bye, even though I… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on March 3, 2010 at 7:13pm —
Damp air still embraces the chill of winter and the only life hearty enough to brave the cold are the crows, swathed in feathers as black as the dress I wore to his funeral.…
Added by Erin Cole on March 2, 2010 at 6:10pm —
Ten years have passed and stars don’t twinkle behind clouds of prediction. I am a believer of stability and comfort, still I want love with depth, spontaneity—attitude. I want love after the sunrise, because deceivingly, it is in the daylight that most of us are alone, working, driving, and planning for the next day.
Habitual natures soothe the restless mind but starve a hungry heart, hearts and minds whose interactions are as heated and delicate as a January flame.
Added by Erin Cole on January 18, 2010 at 6:00am —
Don't miss Kate Pilarcik's ghostly tale of love and murder, Apparition
, at Listen to the Voices.
Added by Erin Cole on October 26, 2009 at 12:47pm —
13 Days of Horror is now on my blog, and my next guest write is from yours truly, down under:
Paul Phiilips and his excellent tale, Branded
Catch it here: Listen to the Voices
Added by Erin Cole on October 21, 2009 at 10:47am —
: it’s more than stealing other writers’ words — it’s an abduction of their children.
Writers’ stories and poems are special works created from their heart, their strengths and weaknesses…from places in the soul where love, fear, and anger are born and the mental, emotional, and sometimes even physical exertion it takes to craft these personal compositions is nothing short of a spiritual evolution.
Writers’ creations can become distinct entities of profound… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on September 30, 2009 at 4:00pm —
When her world dropped like a glass ball shattering splinters of broken dreams, she stood up and never looked back, even as hope hemorrhaged promises and desertion seeped into her life, viscous and hostile like black tar. Hungry mouths demanded attention. Lost hearts needed direction. She doesn’t look ahead to a world of calloused regrets, the stark vacancy of trustful love, or ambitions rotted by the cavities of frailty. She keeps in the moment, clutching faith in blinded strides and… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on September 28, 2009 at 4:44pm —
I find it easy to be difficult. I stop so I can start again. I read to write, take to give, am too tired to sleep, and sometimes dance the blues. I’m dying to live; I remember to forget. I can see blindness and feel nothing, have caged freedom, and fight for love. What I do know, is that I often don’t, and what I don’t know, it seems I really do — and when life goes wrong, I will find the right.
Added by Erin Cole on September 16, 2009 at 12:27pm —
In the seclusion of barren space, I am home. Sometimes I want to be lost, favoring life in the fog of dreams, the desert of the unknown… the silence of your eyes. I don’t fall prey to fear, but I am not fooled by the venomous raptures of promise either. I know somewhere in the gray, in the fissure of now, there is an oblivion that will encircle me with forget — an abyss that will drown regret — an ocean that will flood my soul with nothing if I let… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on September 3, 2009 at 1:56pm —
I have a tablet called The Shit List with spaces for people who have been…well, assholes.
The first section details the offender, violation, and plan of attack — you know, the essentials for documenting an asshole.
The next section lists the time, date, and severity of the offense, one through five; not even a traffic ticket provides this — it’s either you’re screwed, you’re really screwed, or you get bunked next to your long, lost cousin Vernon who brought the poisoned… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on August 19, 2009 at 1:34am —
They were under the bleachers, half undressed and soaked with the sweat of pleasure. He called her name, sucked on her nipples and put his head between her legs, knowing she was almost there by the way she wiggled.
,” she said, but then stopped and sat up. “I’m sorry; I just can’t do this.”
“It’s only a name … it’s not my fault my parents named me Jesus,” he said, watching with cruel disappoint as Mary got dressed.
“You could say oh God… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on August 10, 2009 at 1:13pm —
As always, amber light spilled through the cracked door and I slid inside his office, stealth as a feline, gun heavy and hard in my hands.
“Janet,” he said, looking up from a mound of manuscripts I knew would be in the trash by morning, along with an empty box of Chinese food, and all the unanswered sticky notes his secretary had left him for the day.
“Hello Daniel,” I replied, swaggering up to his desk with my… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on August 3, 2009 at 2:59pm —
Mike pulled the skin of his cheeks down, attempting a thoughtful pause before he said anything else. “Of course I love Maggie,” he told his daughter, “But you can’t tell me losing a dog is like losing a person.”
“Pets are family too,” Julie argued.
He chose an apologetic nod over further verbal insensitivities, because in truth, he was glad that dog was dead, jumping on him with its cashew-shaped nails, that mop-bucket mouth licking him everywhere, and its breath, Geezus
, “I’ll… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on July 27, 2009 at 2:02pm —
Little diamonds glisten on the ripples of clay-green water as we coast down the river, winding around basalt and sandstone cliffs draped with ash and fir. We paddle ashore for a break and you help me out of my kayak, though I say “I can do it,” but you want to help; you want to be courteous.
As the river bends downstream and we steer through white caps, I realize we must do the same when we’re ashore, but the demands of our daily life divide us like the boulders in the river, each… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on July 17, 2009 at 2:26pm —
I see it almost everyday on my kitchen counter, an old, tarnished brass compass found at a local antique shop left idle and unable to give promising directions apart from the objects residing with it in my junk box; however today, the compass speaks to me, almost whispering into my ear, “Where are you going? Can I be of any assistance?”
I pick it up, feeling its smooth casing, and open the lid – a groan escapes from the wear of time. Inside, the bone white background is embossed with… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on July 8, 2009 at 2:30pm —
Hurting is for losers.
Some people just can’t be hurt anymore, or ever, and it pisses the hell out of most people, damn snobbish attitude
, they think.
It used to bother her, others’ aloofness, but now she enjoys it.
She looks average on the outside, not too fat to pity and not skinny enough to second look, but she’s far from average on the inside, for she has an abnormally small amygdala, thus little emotion — flat affect.
Sure, she cried at… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on July 2, 2009 at 4:30pm —
There was an unnatural presence in the woods, like the forest had been visited by something sinister. Trees and plants wilted to a brittle gray, choked from sunlight and clean air. Unfortunate wildlife was strewn across the rugged landscape, the latest victims to the stirring earth. Nearby hunched pines and firs suggested a day of mourning, as an uneasy stillness blanketed the hazy blue-green mountains. The land, suffocated by the mountain’s exhalation, would rest through nature’s cyclic… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on June 30, 2009 at 12:30pm —
For me, writing is a medium to explore the multitude of interests, beliefs, emotions, visions, and other facets I seek to discover and create to make sense of my world.
Writing is living; the more I live, the more I have to write about.
The words on my page are essentially words from my breath, words from my mind – words from my spirit.
The keyboard plays the melody, drumming from my imagination, sometimes slow and rhythmic, sometimes vibrant with spontaneous… Continue
Added by Erin Cole on June 26, 2009 at 1:30am —