i think to be unloved is to be damned. 

for a while i thought myself damned.

can you really be damned at 16?

i gave him two cigarettes this time, 

and offered another two. 

he smoked them till the tips of his fingers burned, 

i wanted to place them on my lips.

suck them, kiss them, cool them.

i sat across from him, nursing one drink, careful with my teeth and my brow.

he...

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"i know how to walk from here to there" 

okay, i muse back, 

"so walk through fires with me, walk through" 

i cant. i never have been able to. 

the places that i walk from are the mouths of cavernous houses. 

and from them ive only just realised i can leave.

"i will give you wings and a heart and a lust for the finer things"

good, i need an incentive.

"but you must act upon...

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sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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curled on a velvet chair

in a darkening room

is a monstorous teen. 

outside the blackening,

is a fading pink sky.

the clouds within whisper to shepards, 

"Delighted I Hope"

and on the highest grassy hills,

the shepards face eternity.

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my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

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on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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love feels like cold jealousy. 
sitting across from one another. 
the table could be worlds and oceans. 
i sting with furious stomach churning envy. 
snakes and beetles scurrying between my legs. 
closed and rotten now i know what i do. 
she is so much younger than i,
the times my time was always first, 
no longer exists. 
she broke a cycle as old as i, and therefor 
as old as my time. 
...

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There were whispers that the reaper king Mortimer once lost his human form, his body, his shell. Among the reapers, rumors changed it to his soul being stolen.
This is what really happened,
Blake Alexander bowed to his audience from his stage so did his partner in his magic act Max Starfire. They dematerialized and rematerialized in their dressing room backstage.
"Max you never do things righ...

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"Hello Blake," said a man dressed in a Chicken suit with a mask.
"What brings the Masked Chicken to the morgue?" Asked Dr Blake Alexander the local coroner.
"I need info for a case from my source in the morgue," said the Chicken.
"So this isn't a social visit," said Blake.
"No," said the Chicken.
"You shouldn't be in here," said Blake's Assistant, Dante walking in the room.
"Dr Alexander is ...

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The day began like most others. Blake Alexander yawned as he got ready for work at Charing Cross hospital. Where he was the coroner in charge of the morgue.
His wife was on holiday without him in America so it would be lonely at work.
He heard the doorbell and dashed to answer the door.
He found at it a slightly nervous man a Postman.
"Hello," Blake said wondering why he was nervous.
"Here is...

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The grim reaper sat drinking a cup of coffee as a man in his office peacefully until his son ran in his office. "Dad you won't believe it the moon has hatched!" The Necromancer shouted. His father choked on his coffee.
"You alright Dad?" asked Lance worried.
"Yes, you psycho! The moon did what?" Blake, his dad said to his serial killer son.
"This is more important than you and me! The moon has ...

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As we sit in the covid  Squallor at first i thought i'd never want to or be able to write anything about it. I was stuck in the house a lot as a kid and this time in our lives has made me feel like i was going back to that, just   slowly falling back. The closing down of old life i found too heavy  and miles too  depressing, and truthfully its still despressing but out of that came a great suprise...

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{Til Morning Light}

I've doubted my

happiness along

awaiting for my newer

sins til morning light

and as I rewrite all

of my stories and

compete with my

never-ending ends

that seems to never

be ending for me daily 

and I don't have time

for no imposters

because I will only

fade away at the

rumbling watery

morning light while

rewriting all my new

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{The Darkness}

Your whole 
aura is 
giving off 
that deep 
down darkness 
that we all 
fear to love 
but you are 
making yours 
absolutely 
intoxicating 
to resist 

©Tina Glover All Rights Reserved/ One_Pissed_Off_American_Ghost_Writer 2017 but posting here on February 21,2018

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{The Moment}

The moment 
when happiness
arrives but some
stubborn asshole 
comes along to 
screw that up for 
you so steer clear 
of all assholes 
that's even 
including you 

©Tina Glover All Rights Reserved/ One_Pissed_Off_American_Ghost_Writer 2017 but posting here on February 21,2018 

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“And to his rock be bound eternal; forever gifting man all that is infernal.
Bound by chain, suffering as the eagle’s meal; freedom bought by the one who shall steal.
Unto the eagle’s beak his blood be lash; to control he who shall become our man of ash.”

There’s something about the heavenly reflection of that silver-tongued devil which comforts me.
The cigarette pursed between his lips, con...

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It was on the sixth day of the arctic voyage that I realized that I hadn't brought any tampons. I was so wrapped up in becoming one of them that I scarcely had a thought about my feminine attributes. It was my adventurous demeanour that had brought me here, along with a few gifts that had been graciously donated by mother nature: a strong jaw that squared off my face and gave me a sort-of hellish ...

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Us boys started off towards a thickening wood, Tom leading the way, making small chat about the shortened seasons this year while holding branches for me to pass through. As we neared a thickened grove of trees, I could hear a sad melody emerge from in front of us. I gave a start and reached out to touch Tom's jacket, however I noticed an upwards angle to his mouth that I had not yet seen. An expr...

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My husband cheated on me, what an asshole. Why she used a typewriter to record this daunting thought was beyond her. Perhaps it was the slow but definite click, like the ticking of the clock. A reminder that although time feels still, it moves relentlessly on. Shit, it's dark. She whipped around to face the clock that covered most of the wall. It's huge hands were pointing to something but this cl...

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So Sunday is the day on which I am dedicating to self-evaluation. As you may know, at the moment I am going through a bout of depression, which comes and goes and affects me to the point where I freeze at the thought of doing anything even remotely helpful. I am trying to combat this by forcing myself to do things that I see as ‘putting myself out there for the world.’ This blog and Poem A Day For...

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I’m a little drunk off lucky dip tokens at our local bar so today’s blog will be brief. I think some of you may appreciate that after yesterday’s anti-feminism post. Though that post garnered the highest reception since I started doing this so maybe I should lay into good causes more often. Oxfam, I’m coming for you next.

As far as weeks go, it’s not been a good one this week. My productivity h...

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I know it's not poetry, but I have performed it once, so I hope that makes it okay. My short story The Last Meal of the Condemned is available to read online at Litro:

http://www.litro.co.uk/2014/07/the-last-meal-of-the-condemned

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I killed a man. It was self defense. But God forgive me I killed him.

I told him, "Don't mess with me. You'll regret it." But he didn't listen. The next second he was writhing in pain. I could tell his knees wanted to buckle, but they held firm.

When I released him I said, "Walk out that door and don't mess with anyone ever." He turned as if to leave but lunged at me.  The knife in his hand ...

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The small town had struggled to survive for years.

In it's heyday it had built a church. It even had an organ

whose pipes shown like silver.  The organist pressed the pedals

as is she were making wine to be served as communion.

The church doubled as a school for a small group of students.

It even h...

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