That Old Wet Dog Feeling

July 16, 2016


Tired of that old wet dog feeling,

hate the way my fur mats down in the rain.

Loathe the way my howls are muted by thunder,

and the lightning just alights my disdain.


Tired of my paws aching,

From paths I’ve walked before.

Tired of no packs taking,

When I’m scratching at their doors.

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July 9, 2016


Shifting direction due to fact,

Bad thoughts have no tact.

I feel easier on the run,

freedom and slavery are one.


Open eyes to the sun,

Light a dreadful pun.

Personal one night stand,

Father am I yet a man?

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It Cures All Ills

July 9, 2016


Wicked still and gasping for breath,

Old wares dragged up to the crest.

Masks come undone, curtain call,

as it rises through your chest.


Fever in the guise of manic thought,

sweating out the sickness internal.

Aching in ways to debilitate,

inner talk becomes infernal.

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Short Fiction: The Perfect Crime

August 10, 2015


This was originally inspired by a writing Prompt from Reddit.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think of it in the comment section:

“No good will come of this you know”

“I know…”

The couple stood over the dead body, staring down at the lifeless form at their feet. The Body was still fresh, the eyes open and accusing, the hollow stare that will one day happen to all of us when the soul vacates it’s shell.

“So what do we do now?” She asked.

“I guess we bury it, try to make sure she does not see it before she gets up.”

She looked at her watch, then up at the bedroom window on the second floor of the house.

“That only gives us a couple hours…”

“Then we better work quickly then.”

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