http://slow.writerscafe.org/Caller_ID The original writings of author No en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776064861 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 morning on ward7.As soon as Sharon turned the lightson in the morning, Elspeth could feel it burning even behind her eyelids. Sherefused to open her eyes even as Sharondrifted around the room, picking up shoes and lining them up by the dresser.Elspeth opened one eye. The blood .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/562123/ night.Mary Anne ledthem down the hall. The left wall was lined with doors; the right with onlymore purple wall paper. As she passed, Elspeth peered into the doorways and sawempty beds, made with hospital corners, each thing in its proper place, noclothes on the floor or toys on the beds,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/562122/ on the ward.                 It hit her allat once, like a bottle rocket exploding in her face the moment she heard thewired door shut and lock behind her. She was imprisoned. She was an inmate,with no chanc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/562121/ Pennsylvania.       Elspeth awoke in a wheelchair, in a hallway lined with bulletin boards of letters and pictures; she felt actual carpet underneath her feet, scarlet, but underneath that, she knew there was only endless slab of concrete and dirt. The comf.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447558/ “When my eyes go blank,The bomb likes to drop downAnd just sit in the middle of my forehead,As innocuously as only a bomb canWith a beep, a flash, a periscopeTo seek any sense of motion,Any mention of sound.Sometimes, gods with censored faces,With tinted windows.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447556/ I'm wandering,Barefoot through a dayThat’s never belonged to me.A stream of consciousness,Or lack of that which should beIn which I swore I wouldNever spend night dreamingIn vivid installments of 32 bit color,Never spend a day awake in sleepOf dreamless dark t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447555/ (italicized parts are memories manifested in dreamscape) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447554/ I've written pages, upon pages, trying to rid you from my bones. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447075/ Ward 7.And so the pen rested, with no more thoughtless memories or ill-formed metaphors left to bleed out through its tip and onto the yellowing paper. It was tired, and so was Elspeth’s hand, which now tapped up and down on the disintegrating notebook as she sat back against.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/447072/ A Memoir http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/445483/ Bones sinking like stones, all that we've fought for, all here in our beautiful world. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/399647/  When my eyes go blank, The bomb likes to drop downAnd just sit in the middle of my forehead,As innocuously as only a bomb canWith a beep, a flash, a periscope To seek any sense of motion,Any mention of sound. Sometimes, gods with censored faces,With tinted windows, withheld s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/376217/ i need words in my mouth;i've got blood in my mouth;can we trade? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/376183/ found a new job moving offices from floor to floor in thirty-story office buildings. first paycheck, they paid me in typewriters. damn it, i love this job. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/370770/ and if I could reach my fingers, i’d lick below the nails to suck out the poisonsomeone planted in a slight, sadistic plan to make me see a bit more clearlythrough the fog I’m breathing now. and through the walls, we’d see the city;laugh about how bright and beau.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/360485/  For some strange reason, the world of ethereal, frozen latticesand of livid beauty entrances me back to sleep only minutes after I awake in the morning;only seconds when I wake again at night.  The sound of my head against your wallsand the pulsing that bakes my insides .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/356948/ the tall flood came in the middle of the night, and it asked for your bones as homageso that it might spare this town and its rightfuldear souls.  it said you were poisoning the lot of us like sourdough to the loaf, you spat upon the ground we trod uponand dr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/346656/ so doesn't that make us the perfect pair? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/340951/ I don't quite remember the purpose. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/338078/ ramblings on a monday in which hours passed in a matter of minutes and feelings combusted. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/334542/ it took so long to realize, you must be blind. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/329301/ where does the good go?"down the sewers when it rains, where it's eaten by the plague that swims virulent in the water and thrives upon the plain and pure."and where does the plague go?"well its pumped under our feet a thousand gallons every minute, and it's ruined and it's filt.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/328846/ drop to knees and pray. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/320860/ ill written and vague; i've got a way with words that have no way with me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/320423/ Silence.Sound of whirring fan and vacant clearing of throat into microphone.Takes a sip of water and a shattered breath.[script starts] "Where have you been?"astronomical question; she freezes and waits for enlightenment. lightheadness maybe, it ensues. quick black ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/318656/ a bus stop seems such an innocent,juvenile triviality,but not to the driver who has witnesseddegradation and racial slurs,taken knives and issued handcuffsand cleaned up blood and spots of semen from the seats.night after night the bus is locked peacfully in its manmade garage,j.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/318074/ smoke, such a beautiful and violent word. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/317831/ there's a holocaust startingon my imagination,under siege it will cease to justpractical thoughts of you. i'm becoming to realize there'snot much time left for mebeing slowly replaced bysuperficial philosophy. subject day by day,i become the waste products of time's e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/317350/ journey into adolescence, and emergence out, with the development of self-identity and maturity. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/314796/ and i promise they'll build monuments for us. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/312241/ god gave me two hands, but i've misused them, carving maps in my skin and tying my stomach into knots. it's heavy work, but i sleep well at night, http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/309809/ you can put down the gun,and get the hell out of this room,but as you're leavingdon't forget to wipe your feet.you're tracking pride all over my carpet. i never asked you to leave, but you needed to,to wake me from this nightmare wherei'm just feeling sorry for myself. its q.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/309799/ you gave a harrowing trip to me, love.your lack of interest is chewing me upjust to spit me back out,as the telephone rings on its hook.midnight on main street, i find you face down on the matted shag carpet, of Satan's apartment; a stone pair of aces.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/307090/ words just won't form in my mouth these days, they're born and then drowned in my stomach acid before they've got a chance to tell their story. please prove me wrong. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/307073/ Don�t let the fear in Don�t let the hatred through the door And the fever, like a spider, walk your skin Can you still hear him? Still preaching science at the screen While the doctors try to cover the sin Oh it�s a mad world honey And this crazy http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/297600/ You took my hand, my mind, my judgement.you took away my innocence, along with everything else i had left to give;but i offered it willingly on a silver platterlike a pig with my heart its mouth.  Then you locked it all up, and you stowed it away.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/296746/ hold on sweetheart, it won't be long before.... we get home. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/296015/ i never plan on getting a tattoo. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/290885/ "please take a seat and close your eyes. pick up a pencil and draw me your mind, with its cables and slums, and its bridges and winds, with its highrises and shanties, its curves and its lines. and the church with it's cemetary for your dead th http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/289078/ self-explanatory http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/286639/ Based off of the song "Ladida", originally written by Manchester Orchestra from the unreleased album Nobody Sings Anymore. Written while I was supposed to be at a party, but the party was lame, and then the building caught on fire. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/279749/ After Reading Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/279326/ It's already half past twelveand i've been waiting here for hours.Stationary on this park benchi'm a perching roost for doves,and by pedestrians around me,i could have told that you'd forgottenbut i'm ahopeless,lost,romanticwho'd do anything for love. When the streetligh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/279064/ inspired by a painting with no name. a painting of a blue eye, a black and white lake, and a barbed wire fence. i ran away with it. enjoy, or don't, but comments are appreciated. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/279043/ for the girl who's got all the friends in the world, but who's looking for one with a heartbeat. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Caller_ID/278971/