The blank page

Stares up at me,

Taunting silently.

I feel the words

In the back of

My throat,

But they won’t come.

No matter what

I try, they stubbornly

Stick.

I force myself

To vomit up the words.

Nonsensical words,

Covered in gore,

Tears, and insanity.

I smear around the words,

But nothing changes.

And all there is

Is

Smeared Vomit.

-Text Copyright 2019 (c) Leigh Rachele Thrompt-

Choking,

Gasping,

Drowning in the desperation

And dark

Deep

Depression.

The tears

Stubbornly

Won’t come.

They’re hovering,

Nearly there.

But

They

Don’t define you.

Tears help

You

g r o W

To become

Something

Better

To what you

Thought

Was even

Possible.

But

The true

Tortureous

Torment

Of tears

Only come

When you truly

Transform.

-Text Copyright (C) 2019 Leigh Rachele Thrompt-

Mom

reaches over

and

h u g s

me.

"I love you, sweetie,"

She says.

"Love you too,"

I grumble,

smiling.

Who do you think you are

stealing stars from the sky ....

*

......

Who do you think you are twinkle little star ?

*

......who do you think you are scattering your stardust ?

*

*

*

*Dreams

*

*

*Baby

Dreams *

She is full of stories if you get to know her ,

you’ll tell her why she hasn’t written it down and

she’ll laugh and

tell you books are for peeping toms

and maybe that’s why she liked books because it easier to read someone else’s reality than to address yours......

Going out

It’s time for me to whore up

Pretty all my claws up

Make my eyes smoulder

Show a little shoulder

But toughen up like a soldier

Gotta bring that attitude

Get a little rude

Be in that mood

I’m gonna be strong

I’m gonna be free

I might sound wrong

But you will see

Fishnet stockings. Leather and lace.

Nobody can say no. Look at that body. Look at that face.

With a lick of her lips and a raise of her brow,

She will have you on your knees without you knowing how.

She will make you beg before she touches your skin.

But you're about to awaken the beast from within.

She wants your screams and she wants your blush.

She'll make you crawl but make sure you rush.

Does she seem crazy, for her need to see you in chains?

It's your decision but she'll need you restrained.

She'll let you look but you can't touch.

She wants you to crave her. Plead for her touch.

The feel of her tongue drives you insane,

And you realise you still don't know her name.

You'll obey her orders. Let her tempt and tease.

You can use your mouth, down on your knees.

You call her Mistress, never honey or babe.

One night with her and you'll never be the same.

They called us The Newlyweds.

I wore a white slip. My black hair in kinks and knots. My lips, ripe cherries. We always parked around back. We always left the car running. And I’d always go in first. He’d follow with the gun. We’d go in with an empty briefcase and we’d always leave with it full.

We checked in to separate rooms around noon. I had time to kill. I painted my nails and smoked one after the other until my room was cast in a dull fog. The smoke circled me, heavy. It was superstitious, but I never could leave until I’d had a sip of brandy and read his letter.

Penny,

Tonight we ride. Hold on tight.

All my love, T.

I tucked it in my stockings and made for the car. And just like always, he was there waiting. We parked in back. I pulled out my pill box and dry swallowed a blue one, then took the bump he had for me, giggling. He laid some out on the space between my thumb and my index finger for himself and then kissed me hard afterwards. His right hand slid between my thighs, and his left crawled up the small of my back, pulling me into him. My skin raised, hot and aching. And my hands grew too anxious and pulled through his hair. My mouth searched for his neck and my breath left in short gasps. And as my self control seeped out of me, he laughed low and pushed me slowly away.

“We celebrate after. You know that.”

I nodded, quick and small, straightened my hem, fixed my lipstick. I laid my forehead against his, my face still too hot and the skin between my legs wet. I breathed calm and deep. Kissed him light on the cheek. I took another bump and climbed out of the car. Maybe I’d taken too much but my breath was coming out in dizzy bursts, and the air felt too heavy around me. I turned before I rounded the corner to the building front and blew him one last kiss. He lifted his chin and smirked in acknowledgment, and I did my best to let the angst slip away.

My heels clicked and echoed against the marble floor. I waited my turn in line. I stood, a picture of patience on the outside. Just under the surface my emotions fussed about in restless fits. And as I came up on the wooden and gilt desk, he walked through the door. And everything melted away. He came up behind me and slid the suitcase across the counter, a flash of the gun sticking out just underneath. And he looked just like a ghost. Haunting and pale, in all black. Sunken eyes, slicked back hair, all wrapped in leather. And me with bloodied lips and my white slip, sitting in stark contrast to my skin. The straps of my dress barely touching my hollowed collar bones. You’d think that we should have worn masks. But people don’t pay attention to faces when there’s a gun around. People don’t watch your face when there’s a monster inside of you.

The girl behind the counter was all wide eyes. My voice calm and drawling like honey, “Sugar, I’m going to need you to go in back and fill that up for me.”

I winked and held one finger up to my lips. She sat, trembling in shock. “T? Help me out, baby?” I tipped my head against his chest, and he kissed the top.

He leaned forward and laid his hand across her shaking fingers. “Hey, now. You just still yourself. We just wanna get out of here as quick as possible. You feel me?” His words slid over her like thunder rolling. She took a deep breath, grabbed the suitcase from his hand, and headed to the back. She wasn’t gone long. When she returned she held her breath and handed the bag over to me. I nodded, handed it to T, and made for the door. Adrenaline was pumping through me hard. Between my quickened pulse and the harsh sunlight outside, my eyes couldn’t focus. I turned behind me to check that he was on my tail, but kept walking. Our eyes met, and something wasn’t right. I expected a wink. They were open and terror struck. And everything slowed. I made to spin around and see what nightmare lay behind me at the same moment that he reached to pull me out of the way. And his hand missed mine. And as my eyes came to rest on the scene in front of me, my sternum caught fire. In front of me were flashing lights. In front of me was a gathering of cars and men in uniform. In front of me there were a dozen guns trained on my face and his. And I looked down at my slip as the front blossomed wet and sticky. My breath stuck in my throat and my chest burned like inferno. And as I fell, it was his gun I saw staring straight at my center. And his eyes were empty and wet. And his mouth hung open. Despair etched across every feature. And my lungs refused to fill. And my insides kept pouring. And his eyes wept. And my baby shot me down.

There’s crushed apples. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And there’s blood. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. I wake on the floor amidst the mess. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Sticky, wet, rotting, sugary mess. I push down the terror from the sweet, metallic saliva that holds my mouth closed and try to decide how long I’ve been here. Light beats dull and muted through the dust covered windows in the east. I was starving close to sundown. My hunger, unyielding and predatory. And I could smell it on the air. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. My fingers close on matted hair to the right of me, and I ignore my violent self-loathing. I roll to my side to assess just how much blood has pooled around my victim. I am wasteful when I am mad with hunger, so I know what I will find. Great puddles with chunks of flesh and tissue. Bloody, spoiled apple cores being swallowed slowly by the fruit flies. I yank hard on the hair, dragging the body across the hardwoods. No heat. And the wet mess has coagulated in its deepest pools, while drying into crusty, maroon scabs at the edges. My head pounds with clouded confusion. I press my palms to my eyes and hold my thumbs against my temples. I breathe deep. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And all the while, that sweet, metallic after-taste staining my teeth, sending my mind careening into the memory of my voracious hunt. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And body after body just waiting to be plucked and ravaged. And syrupy chunks of once white, fruit flesh clinging to the mess. And glazed over eyes, once burning with fire. And sticky, wet, rotting sugar.