Am I a white horse with black stripes?

Or a black horse with white stripes?

I look at myself unaware of who I am, yet I see everyone else so clearly.

I know of the unicorn... a simple colored horse, yet it gets all the credit for having only a single horn, yet a bull has two and everyone only uses them as a term for my sadness.

(bull shit.)

me and the bull aren't much different for we both are misunderstood.

but there I go again worrying about others and not seeing my own true colors.

but aside from all the sadness.

everyone is the same.

everyone is the same color.

everyone has the same parts.

though too bad the only way people realize that is when you tear others open.

or if you tear yourself open.

sadness is all the same black and white leaking red.

I sit alone in that tiny shadow,

No one to notice,

Rocking back, deeper into the darkness.

I scream,

Hoping for a response,

But the silence stays still.

Too quiet,

Too Quiet.

TOO QUIET!

Screaming won't help,

I suffer,

Oh how will I get out.

When the path is all covered up.

Hi, My pen name is Ashryn Sagepark! I am so excited to be here! I am currently working on 3 different books. The first one is a poetry book, filled with all of my poems. The second is a fiction novel, about a cult. And the third is a realistic fiction about a possible senario, when I was in a very traumatic time in my life. I can't wait to publish these books, but I will still take my time and make the books worth reading! I am always up for writing collaboration so just DM me if you have an idea! I hope to talk to all the brilliant minds here!

IF my name were Judice

would you ask me what my mood is?

IF my name were Bobby

would you ask me of my hobby?

I cry, I smile, I love, I hate...

I do so much more than detonate...

-anonymous

thank you

(Erotic Fiction)

She came around the corner when he was in tears, at exactly the right time he needed her. The feeling of fulfillment was so bright and as tangible to the tongue as a glass of orange juice at breakfast time. They were performance artists together, but he did it mostly to be with her. Justin liked to challenge gender stereotypes, and would sometimes dress in drag. Moana liked to do male drag too, and they would change their voices pretending to be offbeat people that they admired or that made them laugh when they would go on walks downtown sometimes. Justin wasn't really sure why Moana did the performance art, but he thought maybe she liked the reaction from the crowd. She liked to push the envelope, and he did too, but really just for the adventures he had with Moana. He loved watching her out the corner of his eye when they were onstage together. Her eyes where chocolate almonds that went on forever. She really shined with an undisclosed light that drew people into her mystery. She was so comfortable moving her delicious form across the stage, but yet seemed very modest and unaware of her beauty. She had a funny smile that was instantly disarming. The pervasive interest and sometimes palpable hunger of the crowd at times overwhelmed Justin with jealousy though, and this was the first time that he had actually exploded and ran outside to cry in the parking-lot like a broken toy. Moana appeared around the corner and fell down on her knees beside him, throwing her arms around him, she asked him what was wrong. Justin wasn't really sure what to tell her. He didn't want their mutual friendship to change.

Later that hot summer night she invited him over to her house for the first time that she shared with her roommate Aseeka. For the longest time it had only been Justin's house where they planned out there performance pieces to stir up the Open Mics in this little coffeeshop called Gorbachev in Denver; so this was quite a shift. Aseeka was a a thin man of about fifty with childish eyes that danced with excitement, yet seemed to challenge Justin in his black Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds tee-shirt and styled in spots spiked hair. Aseeka laid out a dazzling set of Tarot cards that almost shimmered with the mystical art outlined in an eye-catching silver and gold. He passed a bowl of pot around between the three of them as he read out loud their supposed future's. Justin's was very light, and showed the promise of a new job. Moana's was pretty dark and seemed to spell out a tragic death which she wrote off as a transition that she felt inside of her towards a new cosmic awareness. All through the reading Moana's face seemed a mask of enrapt interest that showed little emotion, but appeared very attentive. Justin admired how she never seemed to get too upset about anything and always appeared so strong and positive. He also enjoyed her no bra look with her perky firm nipples poking up against her white tee-shirt with a low neck-line. When Aseeka was done with the reading, he grabbed Moana's hand, and beckoned Justin with a finger through the beaded curtain of his room that smelled rich with the musky smell of good incense and natural body scent. He sat them both on the bed, and brought down a book of Ginsberg poetry that he wanted to read to them.

"Can I read you a couple poems? I love Ginsberg!"

Moana seemed to just like to be in the room. She peered around with her lovely long lashes blinking, looking very much like the Cheshire Cat. Her arms were propping her chest out in front of her. Justin was a bit intrigued too, though a bit defensive, his arms wrapped around himself awkwardly. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, and he felt kind of uneasy in this new environment, though overall he felt accepted and mostly comforted by his new friend. He decided to just accept the situation for what it was. Moana turned and smiled at him, and then immediately looked over at a book of colorful Hinduism that was very pretty and engaging. She took it down and got lost in that, almost entirely losing sight that she was in the room with two men.

"Yes," said Justin.

"Please read to us!"

The poems were kind of long and windy, and though Justin wasn't a huge fan of the writing he liked the way Aseeka read the words with passion. After he was done he dropped the book on the floor and plopped down beside Moana. Almost as if in a dream, Aseeka pulled his comfortable looking parachute hemp pants off and revealed a huge cock with a large pink head. Moana tossed her book away and popped the head of the cock into her mouth, making it disappear down her throat with a nice suction sound. She made a loud pop every time she pulled the big cock out of her mouth, and soaked his rock hard dong with plenty of saliva. The lights were low, and a cd was playing somewhere but Justin was in a trance of disbelief. He could barely conceive it when Moana pulled the back of her shorts down, exposing her nice round ass to him. She took a break, glancing back from her cock-sucking at Justin, hoping he would get the hint. There it was, the velvet Petunia he had ruminated over for so long nestled between the heart shape of her lovely scupltured ass! In an instant he was naked as well! He popped his head between her legs and found her tiny pearl with his tongue, tenderizing it with a smile, and loving the taste of her as the moans of pleasure from the three lovers rolled over each other and became one huge exhalation like the breathing of a whale underwater. When Justin slipped inside Moana he could barely believe how perfect it felt as she completely encompassed him in her warm haven of pleasure made just for his cock. He watched her cup Aseeka's wrinkled balls in her mouth as Aseeka threw his bald head back, pointing his satyr's beard to the ceiling. Justin felt all the jealousy drain from his body as he pumped Moana's tight, yet inviting, pussy hole. He almost came, but then pulled out and blasted his love juice all over her back. It was such a fantastic encapsulated time that glowed like the many embers in a fire, and they all came in unison many times that night.

Later, before sunrise, Justin and Aseeka both enjoyed some tea sitting on the porch steps as Moana wore one of Aseeka's sweaters and stared up into the starry sky. She was smoking a cigarette and humming a song to herself.

"What's that song you're singing?," asked Justin.

"I feel like I've heard it before."

"It's Evelyn Champagne King...It's her song 'Love Come Down'. I really love the way she sings it!"

"Oh yea! That songs great! I remember that one from MTV when I was a kid."

"I just saw it on Youtube recently, like two days ago! It was my first time ever hearing it," said Moana.

"Hey, I just had an idea for a performance piece! I'm going to run to my car and grab my big bag of pens!"

Moana booked across the street right at the same time as the Semi with it's huge steely grill flew with a rage down the road. She never even had a chance to look up. The thwacking sound was like a baseball hitting a bat at a televised stadium. The truck never even paused a clip, flying off into the distance with an evil red light guiding its way. Aseeka screamed and Justin fell backwards on the stairs. The truly amazing thing was there was not a thing left behind of Moana's body. It was like the huge truck had come and stolen her up and out of their lives forever. What a living nightmare! It was the most wonderful and horrible night that they would both carry with them in their collective hearts for the rest of their lives.

The End

3/17/23

I’ve learned I can technically survive with only 65% of my blood. After about 40%, I’ll go into hypovolemic shock and all of the fluid I’ve lost will impede my heart's ability to pump blood throughout the rest of my body. I may have a limited knowledge regarding the human anatomy, sure, but that should’ve been more than enough information to kill myself.

It sure as hell felt like more than half as the cold that rushed over my body was indiscernible with the river's current. Red and gray shadows danced erratically under the steady current I was half submerged in. I wonder why I’ve chosen this place. Anywhere along Howard Road would have been fine, close enough my parents would know what happened and would not waste their precious time looking for me.

“What.. What was that Morgan? You’re so fuckin’ lucky your mother’s at bingo.” Roberts' eyes met the incessant beep on the hospital machine behind me as he sighed, “Well? Have you got all the attention you need?”

I’d accepted my miscalculations as serendipitous when Laura-Lee’s hand lingered a little too long on my forearm the following week at Burkes Pub. The quiet I sat in the rest of the night proved otherwise, though. I watched as she laughed with a blonde girl I didn’t know. It had to be at my expense. They were laughing at my stupidity.

I discovered next that you can survive up to 24 hours after hanging yourself by the neck. The human body is frustratingly resilient for how trivial life really is. The bruises and boredom forming quickly around my neck trapped me within my own thoughts. I’m sick of hearing myself think. The brunette dressed in black at Shoppers says yellow undertones cover bruises best. I wonder if she knows from personal experience, but I don’t ask. I also wonder what undertones are, but I buy the compact case she hands me and later agree with her aloud in the mirror.

When the brunette who became Tanya turned into the lady who rejected me, I shot myself in the face. Did you know that you can survive a bullet to the face? I educated myself and the inexperienced nurses with shock ridden faces that day. I thought about how the call to inform my parents I’d attempted suicide would ruin their trip this weekend. I have 12 teeth now. 42 surgeries later, I have the right half of my face along with a third of my tongue. I hope they never close the whole in my throat.

There’s thunderous silence in slaughtering. The solitude of my newfound career lets my disfigurements be. I don’t mind Mr. Rideout’s judging eyes, he hired me after all. He doesn’t let his daughter come in the freezer anymore.

The lines of dead carcass full of so much potential reignites my existential crisis. I’m fixated on the tip of the large hook I grip in my left hand, I shift it into my right hand and my only eye follows. I read a magazine article on suicide once. To my own amusement, I found it stashed behind a toilet in my suicide treament facility. ‘Seppuku’ is considered an honorable death among samurai. One by disembowelment, restorative and surefire. The red of my blood in this dark cold freezer is almost black and I feel fear for the first time. Oh god, Mr. Rideout.. Jesus.. No god .. I scramble to hold my stomach in and watch as the blood from my guts bubbles on the icey floor below. My vision blurs and I desperately crawl to the door unable to yell for help. Close enough to strain for the door handle, finally grabbing hold, I realize Mr.Rideout has locked the door to the freezer from the outside.  I wonder if Mom has bingo tonight.