Sacrifices and the Other Side: Book Quotes and Tiny Poems.

Art via Pinterest.

“Real magic can never be made by offering someone else’s liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.”  The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle


On the other side

there is no clinking of glasses

only voices with no faces.

Time extends herself like a whore.

But somewhere

a little girl will laugh

and someone will hold her tightly in his arms.


The witch’s headstone remains intact.


Vampire Diaries FanVideo via KristinaOrtutova on YouTube.

There is Magic in My Bones

Art via Pinterest

Do you feel that?

That’s ancient power running through my veins.

Do you hear that?

That’s poetry in motion

in time with the universe.

Do you see that?

Those are eyes where eyes should be

a mouth where a mouth has always been,

and a heart that will beat

like a drum against the moonlight.

There are spirits calling your name.

One by one

they have plans for you.


I wrap the earth around my skin

there is magic in my bones.



my own path.


Tomorrow : A Short Poem

janaina medeiros
Art by Janaina Medeiros on Pinterest


I will be strong

I will be magical

I will be hanging on the edge of every woman’s breath.


You are tall

You are blameless – always so blameless –

But watch as you fall into a pit of nothingness.

There is love in the coldest parts of me.

And that is enough

to find my sunshine.

Fly me away…

Sometimes, in the midst of the chaos, you just need to find your gravity and hold onto that…even if it’s a silent contemplation. Freedom comes to each person in different forms. To some, it is family, to others it is addiction, love or maybe even religion…and to a few it is a friend built in the imagination and kept safe in the recesses of a messed up heart. One that can never be tangible…but persists surrealistically in defiance. Fly…because life’s too short to stay still or caged little bird. So I’ll fly silently with you.


‘Fly’ via bulletproofcouch on YouTube.

My James Dean Boy.

Image via Pinterest.

I missed you today.

I can’t remember the last time I said that

about you.

I can hear sirens sirens 

I walked past our spot.

Five years ago.

There was you, there was me

boy with green headphones, girl with long black boots

meet and ridicule the world.


blasting heavy metal music


giggling dreaming hoping

begging you to take me away from here.

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Do you trust me? he said


Do you trust me? he said


Do you trust me? he said

Yes, let’s run far far away.

Don’t fucking trust me.

Born to die.

I missed you today…

The way your cigarette would dangle at the edge of your smirk.

The way your body was a perfect fit with mine.

The way you made a broken girl want to feel

the way you made a strange girl want to try

to love. to connect. to trust.

Before trust turned into a blade with rust.

Before you disappointed me.

Before you lost me.

Before I ran.

Before I learned to recognize ‘unloved’

men’s eyes that can’t love

men’s words that can’t love

men’s bodies that can’t love

can’t love can’t love can’t love

unloved seas of people

pushing me,pulling me to the ocean depths.

I’d rather be friends with ghosts.

I can hear violence violence

They say real love is a pearl

you can find

waiting for the unloved

at the bottom of the ocean.

Video: Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die via LanaDelReyVEVO on YouTube.

Italicized lines in poem from Lana Del Rey’s Ultraviolence.

The Dream : A Short Story.

Art via parasci

“Why are you driving my car?” I asked her. She just looked away forlornly and ever so morose. Her hands slipped in and out of the steering wheel. White, pale hands. She still clutched her rosary. I shivered. It looked exactly like mine. Blue-black hematite beads with Jesus’arms outstretched and Mother Mary holding tightly to her precious baby.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I said. She twisted her mouth into a gigantic o-shape and for a moment I felt the universe stop. I looked away from her. Her mouth twitched and she was lost in conversations with people I couldn’t see. Why couldn’t I see them?

“You CAN see them too,” she said, as if the secrets of my mind were now in her possession. “It’s a gift.”

Something about the way she lingered on that word ‘gift’ made me doubt her. Perhaps it was also the unease I felt at the sight of tiny droplets of blood, that started to run down the side of her mouth. I couldn’t look her in the eyes but something about her mouth. I was drawn to it.

“Did you remember to pray today,” she asked me solemnly. “Prayer is the anchor…don’t forget that…but they’ll tell you your soul is black and that there’s no hope…don’t listen. Too many voices. Here and there. There and here. Voices. Eyes. Pray. You mustn’t get lost.”

She started to tremble. The car started to swerve. Her hands moved through the steering wheel.

“Does he remember?” she asked me. “He promised.”

I felt a stab in my heart. I wanted to hug her tightly. But she’d just fall right through.

“He remembers.”

She smiled.

“You’re my second chance, little raven.” Her voice seemed choked. Gurgled. Dead.

For a second I thought her eyes became concrete and sparkled.

And she was gone.

I was alone in my car. Alone. But I could hear the voices. Wanting to be seen. Wanting to be heard. Wanting. Wanting. Voices. Eyes. Pray she said.

There was blood on my mouth. Blood she left when she kissed me.

I wasn’t alone anymore. I could see them all.

The Gypsy Who Dared to Love.

gypsy-woman                   Original poem by Kamalini Govender. Art via Pinterest.


I lost all my words today.

But you’ll pay…

That’s what you do now.

…some way, some how

she whispered to the stars

as she wiped clean all her scars.

Little girl! Stupid girl! You know better than to wish ill

you go backwards with each word that you let spill.

The owl hoo-hooed.


I tried in vain to catch the lines

that formed like black ink on the wind.

Whimpers, whispers, whines

but my mouth had already sinned.

Too late, too late, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo

now you’re in time for a very important date.

The color drained from my face

as I watched Her black hood and bony fingers of lace.

My heart stopped beating.

There was my life…fleeting fleeting.

The owl hoo-hooed.


I see him coming over the hill

with a sorry and a candy pill.

But he can’t see me. Not anymore.

Nevermore, nevermore.


He’ll find my body in a fallen heap

But I doubt this gentle man is able to weep.

He’ll shrug. He’ll shrug. He always fucking shrugs.

More pretty minds for him to break.

More pretty lies for him to fake.

I give him one last look of love

and then my Lady takes me up


and above.