In which our heroine finds herself clutched in the monster’s filthy, razor sharp claws, afraid for her life. Introduction: The scripting process begins and ends This narrative slowly opens and possibly took several years for the writer to realize the finished script. Editing the story of a life continues beyond publication, past the timeline of… Read More Canferatu: The Prequel
Unlatch me, catch and return me scales, underbitten and in the flesh A real guest of honor. Crumpled shirts creased, A Western hanging for Black hats. Barn door closets Open and craving smart suits. Drawers devoid of life, Almost empty except Gideon’s guide book — The Special Edition With tourist maps all Pointing north at… Read More Humid
Yearning for my partner’s support and the kind of tender and caring love many of which many metastatic sisters write and blog about, I now look over at him, home in bed, and find one whose dark, inky emotions remain locked away inside his heart, like the stars behind clouds in a dark night sky. He lays there disengaged, thinking to himself about things that cause long bouts of sighing, and the simmering anger of so many men who find themselves bitten by such disorders.… Read More One Fresh Hell, Hold the Tomatoes
How does one learn to reason with depression? I’d like to share with you a story about a confused partner who after the passing of her arbitrary three-year deadline falls into s state of incredible aftermath. She unreasonably and unfortunately becomes inconsolable with wave after wave of ugly accusations hurled from across a house she lives in with this depressed man who she no longer knows, or even knows what she feels for him anymore. … Read More And now, Ms. Cancer and Mr. Depression
Slowly dripping outside busy windows
Only two minutes, like eggs timed, yet
She’s done cooking. With eyelashes, false
Newly bred widows sit with spidery eyes,
Single fingers silently making reservations for twos.
They reapply the glue, so unkind, that humidity.… Read More Florida, State Your Name
Weather and evening corralled the horses inside.
Our engines idled, cooled, then died.
Suddenly yet expectantly (as ice or apple pie)
Boring holes in us with collapsible eyes —
Like summer left us in an awful rush,
So the bent boys gasped
As tall awkward girls cried.… Read More Home Ode
We all fall down. The ground grows smaller, As I pass the Earth, Becoming her daughter. Funny to stand today, Eclipsing the sun. My books marked still, On page one.… Read More Maps and Legends
And of our own self images, they’re not influenced by much positive representations. Especially those of us at stage IV. The stage no one wants to know much about at all. We, the misfits, don’t measure up to Santa’s ultra high standards, and become the toys left behind on Christmas Eve. Weepy-eyed, we stand shivering from the cold, waving goodbye to the tail end of a sleigh, to Santa Clause’s fat ass, and reindeer tail lights.… Read More The Island of the Misfit Toys
There is no greater sorrow than to recall the misery in time we were happy – Dante A belligerent handshake, a reluctantly shared cab. “You know where to let me out?” Your smile, a dagger, Mouth unwrapping secrets, your sleeves full of cards. My stomach twists into a gilded fist, so hard, Throwing a kiss,… Read More Half a Block Away
Many of us experience isolation and walk alone in our cancer journeys. Regardless of the stage or type it's difficult and frightening, causing emotional strain and stressing the infrastructure of even our strongest relationships. My husband is in the third year of his depression. Although he’s trying, the lows and valleys run into and erase… Read More A rock feels no pain, and an island never lies…