Come through me

I never spoke before
Your words come right through me
Every night I wake
To sounds of sleeping
Every night I wait
For your beautiful embrace
Through the looking glass
The colors of your dreaming
Like a tidal wave
Come crashing dreaming

gypsy ig clouds
Photo Credit: IG @gypsyone



Morning A/C Calm

Soothing simple silence

Cold air against cool sheets

The morning summer sun sits softly

Like recessive lighting

Bouncing off light blue hues

While I soak up this elastic moment

One before the day

Two before too much

Messy hair and soft cotton

Sleepy eyes awaken softly

From sweet sleep


T E N S I O N _ * @

sj 8

Photo Cred: Sincerely Jules

Like the earth is to gravity,

The magnetic pull hunkers down

On my shoulders,

Anchoring me in a sea of dreariness

Leaving me confounded to the murky waters of moral turpitude.

Like cloudy glass eyes –

Like cataracts on the elderly –

Like torrid rainstorms on a broken sailboat –

Like knots on a tightrope

The Struggle for balance a nuanced and shifty splattergash

Of subterranean flounce

Juxtaposed crippling portrayals and pastures of gilt.


The night buzzed into her room like bees to a Beyhive. Her shoulders twisted and turned in spastic motions, weighing her down with the tension of midnight-drawn silence, the stillness of moonlight, and the radiation of astronomy. She could feel the tides rise and fall in tune with her breathing – up and down, in and out – as if her head was an infinite seashell, breaking waves and fading into a frenzy of amorous plankton – fidgeting nervously about with the frustrations of a proper insomniac.

Juliette writhed on her back. There was clearly no escaping the surmounting poppies of a sleepless poppy field. Drained from the exhaust of mercilessly dragging her brain about the covers, she shifted her position once again so that this time, she lay on her opposite side with one leg under her blanket and the other sticking out – a bit of an Arnold Palmer of sleep positions. And yet, the salty air that wafted into her beachfront bungalow neither calmed nor soothed her; she could only think on the impending doom that awaited her the next day.

Shifting listlessly as the moonlight shown a spotlight into her bedroom, Juliette could not help but reflect on the past weekend’s events. The ride to Tijuana had been a painful and restless one, and the violent sting in her shoulders had only served as a cruel reminder of all of the fights and arguments that had escalated just a bit too quickly.


[15-minute writing prompt fromĀ]