Red Stories

I’ve managed to get myself in a bit of a routine lately, I never thought I could. Untidiness was just one of my little ways. He said he liked that about me, at first. Of course, people change when you've been with them for a while. Now I’m as tidy as tidy can be, nothing is out of place. I’m still the same old me though, just a lot tidier. Having a bit of a lay-in was always one of my guilty pleasures. But, he gets up ear...

I've been trying to write, but it's like the phrases that once flowed from my fingertips like molten gold have crystallized into ice. I've been trying to write, but it's like I'm the pyramids and finally, Egypt has become my succubus, who I submit to with all the willingness of a victim who loves her torture. I've been trying to write, but it's as if words are music and my vocal cords are the gummy piano key nobody plays....

Allay me of my palette, this crimson range of stain. It plagues my heart and taints my art with memories of pain.

The night that I was by the sea,I heard the sea speak to me. The night that I sat by the waves Watching the moon rise red, The night that the waters were splashing Making me listen to them, The night that sea tried to wake me Washing away my impurity, The night that I witnessed so red Calling me to rise after sunset The night that had the half moon Rising from the sea deep dark, The night that red caressed me, The waves s...

I had decided to visit Shanghai with the flurry of movement that invaded the city at that point in time after the war. This decision I took for my interest in the city, but mainly because of my subconscious desire to escape mounting debts, and an unrequited love back home in Marseilles. I took up a low, unglamorous room in the French quarter of the city, hardly surrounded by friends- but at least people living on the same...

How does Red feel? Like another night of dark dreams, fighting through shadows that resemble fists. There are times when I grow tired of this and think, but only for a moment, that it would be so easy to open my veins and finally be free of them. Then, the thought is gone and with eyes shut tight, I try to remember which is the dream and which is the waking moment and sometimes I remember. And sometimes I do not. How does...

What soothing peace Overflows Like the current of an ocean Along a slender slope To swim against the tide And further upstream Where everything is burgundy Rivers run deeper Than the veins of an arm There's no cause for alarm No need to explain Two eyes to see All this melancholy Among the splendor Of a crystalline land Where pain is numbed By the thought of maybe What used to bring comfort Intensifies the envy