Beatrice Noir > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

i laugh, a laugh of injustice as tho my life has been used. whisper gospel at the bus stops, only humanity cannot hear the word of reason, the voic..

the beat doesnt flow in my viens, i drink cold tea and there is no rhythmic snaps in my ears,. i sing the softest blues, but my lips have never..

I gasp shallowly in the night, my mind racing, racing like the cars sucking up the pavement. leaving in their dust gas chambers of death for us a..

A stranger came to talk to me, to tell me stories of my past. His voice whispered melodicaly with each fallen snow flake, every word silently lan..

Are we all like this? Alone. Having pushed everyone away, but still grasping the half crumbled words in our shaking hands. Not such a glamorous ..

I can smell the death playing at the edge of spring. lips humming a soft tune, like rose petals. my skin itches, twitches under the touch of cold..

I hear a ticking caught inside me, Trapped between flesh and bone. Whispering every movement, As if it wasnt my own. The voice of addiction..

she spoke of fragile limbed sparrows, drapped in delicate light and beautiful women. she wrote of wonderful tragities, all from the eyes of a..

there was once a garden inside me, it grew from between flesh and bone. wraping me in green lush leaves, fingers of earth. tiny locking thorns kep..

kiss between my fingers, and i`ll show you what people are always talking about, my hands glide over velvet lips, a garden bathed in the soft ligh..