Desire

The ache of wanting

Your face on every woman I see

My love for you grows

It pulses in my chest

As the waves pound the shore

I need you more than I can say

Yet I try to everyday

My soul longs to be with yours

When our bodies embrace

Joined together

In the rhythm of love and passion

Perfectly synchronized

Breathing each other’s breath

Knowing glances

We achieve the ultimate pleasure

An orgasm consumed by love

Becoming as one

We are complete

Our fate has been met

Every time I wake up,

I'm someone new again.

I'm losing myself,

forgetting myself,

letting my

autopilot

kick in.

Where is my core?

Where is my Soul?

Where is my pain?

My fault,

Didn't stay in touch with myself

Let time pass by,

goes so much faster

than I thought it could.

A stranger to yourself

is a unique kind of loss.

Doing things without meaning,

Still in Life,

but somewhere, stopped living.

I know there was a struggle,

unrelenting,

never ending.

Is this the result,

my unidentifiable self,

Out of all the unknown,

for which I was striving?

In that surreal paradise,

between

asleep and waking,

in suspended animation,

a Soul whose faith

had not yet been shaken,

I crouched above

the world

saw paths I had

never taken...

I scowl at the backyard,

tools cluttering up

my view of nature.

I move them out of the way.

I double-take at the mirror,

showing me this tired reflection.

I turn away.

The scenery on my way to work, on the way to the

grocery store, on the purposeful detours

heading the wrong way,

All look the same.

All around me,

the same, same, same.

I focus on stunting my brain,

attempt to trick my memory,

try not to know

that it's never going to change.

I allow the pictures of you

to seep into my mind,

hear your voice

that gave birth to my name.

Letters forming sounds

that ascertain

I can still feel pain.

The darkness looms

menacingly,

blotting out your image,

So happy and carefree.

I backpedal furiously,

can't close my eyes

to what's inside of me.

I must remove

what I don't want to see.

And when I open my eyes

again,

I am blind to everything

in front of me.

Look at all the fair weather fouls

Flying away

In blurs of wingtip steel,

Blood maroon

And yawning grey

Practicing their hunchback posture

Empathy riots

An orgy of desert dried eye flame

It is all a garish parade

The grotesque faux sympathies

Such laboured rot

Terminal conversation

Pushed by force

Through lying lips

Ruby red iniquities

Black balloon doom and ballroom drop

The widow’s pulsing bosom cleaved regrets

Chew through midnight sky

Loaded with stars like coal teeth

And martyred time’s beast

Births a sandpaper tongued priest

To dish up hollow platitudes

Though skull sunken earth

Up to the stagnating ceiling

Collecting each bored syllable

Fierce to eat up his plastic flower words

The widow

Just waiting for death’s black ice crush

The widow

A lap dog eager to massacre the air in circles

Flashback knives murdering the bobbing skull

Blindfolded visions

At her bedside chronicles

She whose droning bee sighs

Sit musty and staid

Where they will lay in apathy’s grip

For a thousand years

Or more

Long after the wake

Long after the eating of the tombstone cake.

I had my last sip of coffee today. The fresh taste of the bitter beans coated in ungodly amounts of syrup pumps and spoonfuls of sugar tasted like ash in my mouth. It was surprising really. I had started everything just like normal, getting up and getting ready for work, letting my dog out of the bedroom to get some water before the morning walk, and then making myself a cup of coffee with my tiny little single-cup coffee machine that pumped out burnt coffee like nobody's business.

It was... like usual, or- almost so, until the fucking drink hit my lips.

I blinked, my nose burning from the taste of it going up it because I couldn't choke it back down. My eyes burned, sugar in my nose didn't help, and the raw heat from throwing up the rest of it crumbled my hopes of a good morning along with the spill of the drink all across my tiled kitchen floor and into my shitty spent carpet, which was now a deeper shade of tan in some places.

"Fuck!"

I gave myself a little rouse to try to jostle back to my senses, smearing my lips with the open palm of my hand before shoving my mouth against arm as I began licking it as if it would rub off the taste. "Fuck!" I screamed again, running my hand over my tongue. "Fuck!" It was awful! The acidic burn of the coffee lingered in ways that I'd never experienced before and I started to panic, trying to get rid of it.

I didn't know what was wrong, but the moment my head swiveled around, I met my father's eyes and he leaned against the cabinet casually.

"What are you doing?"

"I-" I started, trying to give out an excuse. "I was just doing my usual morning!" I stammered out.

"Julian, relax. It's not an interrogation," Dean remarked smoothly. He bent down to pick up the cup, inspecting the situation. "You're just making a lot of noise, and I came out to investigate."

"I wasn't trying to wake you up! I just was drinking and suddenly my coffee tasted like shit! I didn't mean to fucking throw it. It was-"

Dean's shoulders fell as he relaxed. "That's because you can't do that anymore."

"What?" I asked in disbelief. "What? No. It- That fast?" When my dad didn't answer, my hands fell to my sides in defeat. "Well- Well, what am I supposed to do now?"

"Call in for work," Dean said calmly.

"No."

"Julian," Dean said, looking up at him steadily.

He stared at me with that calmness he had that mom and I did not. It unnerved me because I knew he was saying so out of some rationale beyond me.

My gaze flicked away briefly from him, but when I looked back at him, he rose up to his feet. "Don't argue, just call in for work." he said firmly, though his tone held little to no aggression to it. My dad wasn't the aggressive type. "We can figure something out, but you're not going to do it today. You're just going to end up getting in an accident or worse."

I could see the decisiveness in my father's eyes. The kind that I didn't have enough gusto to muscle up against. I wished I did, but he always won out on being more stubborn than me in ways that baffled me. "Dammit, this sucks," I grumbled under my breath.

"It just means we have to talk a little. Go back over how this works," Dean said. He put the cup in the sink before grabbing a few paper towels. "Why don't you go grab the mop, and after we clean this up you can sit down. Maybe give your dog some attention."

I begrudgingly complied, shifting my gaze away from him. This wasn't where I wanted to be, but it was where I was. My hands grappled for the dispenser, ripping the roll until it spat out probably more than my mom would have thought was necessary to throw it down on the floor. "I still think it's stupid," I breathed. When my dad didn't answer, I sighed. Tonight, I was going to be going over the ground rules that I wasn't sure I wanted to take on.

One, no more day-walking.

Two, no more regular foods. The idea that it would take time to build a tolerance into blood-infused foods sucked, but I was adamant to have my way. Even if my mom said that the blood packs were going to taste a lot shittier than than the real deal.

I was going to get my coffee one way or the other. Or, at least, I hoped I would. It was the closest thing to the energy drinks I was allowed anymore since I had binged those until I got cut off.

My head turned the side, my eyes closing as I shook my head slowly. Man, today was going to really suck.

A Birthday Surprise the Heart Always Dreamed Of

…

To you, my wonderful Molly. May this story be a small reminder of how much you mean to me and how deeply I wish for each of your days to be as special as you are. Happy Birthday!

December 10th arrived with a true winter morning — cold but clear, with a light frost sparkling on every corner of the city. This was a special day — Molly Desmond’s birthday.

That day, Molly looked absolutely stunning. She wore a dark blue dress that highlighted her elegance and refinement. Her bright green eyes sparkled like precious gems, and her makeup, as always, was flawless, enhancing her captivating smile. The necklace around her neck was a masterpiece in itself, but it was impossible to look away, not only from it but from Molly herself — her grace, warm smile, and gentle charm drew everyone in like a magnet.

When Molly arrived at the club, her heart began to beat a little faster. A surprise awaited her here, though she still had no idea what it was. The room was filled with an atmosphere of joy and anticipation. Then, as the stage lights turned on and music filled the space, Tom Jones, the legendary singer she had dreamed of seeing, stepped onto the stage. This evening had turned into a true fairytale.

With a charming smile, Tom Jones wished her a happy birthday and performed her favorite songs, filling the room with the magic of his voice. Molly, forgetting everything around her, enjoyed every moment, feeling truly happy, as if she were in a dream.

With a smile and warmth, she thought of her friend V, who had arranged this magical evening for her. With each song, she felt more joy and wonder, realizing how special this thoughtful gesture was. As the concert came to an end, Tom Jones stepped down from the stage to personally congratulate Molly and handed her a bouquet of roses, making her glow with happiness. But the most touching moment was yet to come.

V, smiling, approached her with a small box in his hands. “This is for you, to remember this night,” he said, handing her a delicate locket with the words engraved inside: “For happiness, forever.”

Molly gently touched the locket and looked at her friend with warmth. She realized that not only the evening with Tom Jones would remain in her memory, but also this symbolic gift filled with the light of their friendship. They walked out of the club together under the soft glow of streetlights and the whisper of light December snow.

“You know, this day is one of the happiest in my life,” Molly whispered, smiling at V. He returned her warm smile and took her hand. And although the night was chilly, next to him, Molly felt only warmth and boundless comfort.

This evening stayed forever in her heart — not just as a birthday, but as a moment filled with light and sincere joy, a gift that only those who are truly dear can give.

Victoria Lunar

© 2024 All rights reserved.

P.S. If I'm not breaking any group rules, I'd like to ask you, my friends and followers, if it's not too much trouble, please share your thoughts on this story, and wish Molly Desmond a happy birthday. This person is very dear to me, and I want to surprise her.

Halloween has passed,

yet I remain in costume

portraying a hoax.

Hiding my spirit

behind a store-bought façade

of expectations.

Decorations stowed,

but I cannot shed this cloak -

a false persona.

Halloween has passed,

and I still pretend to be

someone I am not.

I don’t want to die bored. I don’t want to die tired, or even fat and happy. I don’t want to die when the cold wind slaps my body to the ground, my world upside down. I refuse to die still, or dried out with a permanent frown. I just can’t die tonight.

I want to die on fire. Electric. I’m going to explode my worth in all directions. I plan to light my world ablaze and die alive.

So I will take what I want, and do who I please. I’ll eat the flavors of every corner and always pull over to touch the water. I do not take the easy route, but I will take my time.

And after every mile I’ll absorb every experience, until I bubble and boil and burst my way out.