http://slow.writerscafe.org/jonasleao The original writings of author Jonas Leao en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776022626 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Part II of a short story I'm currently polishing up. Be sure to check out Part I too if it piques your interest. Hope you enjoy it! :) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1668629/ I first met God in a crowded little pub in Finchley, North London. It had one of those very pubby pub names - you know, the usual: The Gold Goose. The Three Kings. The Lonely Lady. Even though the smoking ban had been in place for years in the UK, the inside of the pub smelled quite strongly of smok.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1665737/ The Day is dead, murdered by the MoonShe's out early, dying to sway and swoonIn her ghostly gown, gleefully she glowsHer shadow - living, loathsome, lonely - throwsYour melancholy likeness on the floor. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1505893/ The opening to the Prologue of a work in progress. Tell me what you think :) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1477554/ Shallow Ocean,shattered Ocean,blue and bleak and blindOh, stupid Ocean!quit your yappingAnd soon enough you'll findyour mindless thrashingwon't get you any closerto the sky http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1447625/ All writers are masochists.In a writer's hand, a pen is a scalpel. Paper is flesh. Ink is nothing but twisted webs of blackened blood.Writing is cutting, cutting and killing and burning.Writing is slitting your wrists in an icy bathtub at midnight.Writing is tying a black noose around your neck and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1363051/ In sleepless nights they call to meIn my dark cabinet they sitThe key behind the dead TVIt unlocks the door to blissBottled ghosts in shrines of glassLocked alone in liquid sleepBegging, begging for releaseDon't despair, my friends, I'm here!If I help you... will you help me?Please? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1357922/ We sit in silenceA vodka martini between usYou nevereverlook me in the eye but I can't blame youbecause neither do I http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1333543/ She no longer speaksSpiderwebs and broken glassFester in her dreams http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1328666/ My Madness giggles in the darkExhaling smoke and sex and sinIn her gown of ghostly greyShe's as colourless as me http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1163474/ The coldest hour of the nightThe hour of wolves, the hour of IceThe Winds are bleak and bloody knivesWhich murder with demonic graceThe dead are whistling in their gravesThe Moon glows silver and insaneThe walls creak and scream and moanAnd in the dark I dance alone http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1163471/ I see the sorrow of the SunOn threads of light by specters spunGiving form to both man and beastIt always drowns when days are doneIn the cold shadows of the east.I hear the crying of the MoonThat faraway and pallid wombWhose every tear is liquid starWhose every whisper fades too soonBeneath the sou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1041657/  He's naked under the moonlight, another cigarette in his mouth.  The smoke dances under the odd breeze drifting from the open window.  It's a wind as hot and stifling as the breath of the devil himself, and rivulets of sweat run down his back and chest, caressing him like liquid love.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jonasleao/1041282/