http://slow.writerscafe.org/SiYM The original writings of author SiYM en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776109876 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 not exactly a story... There really is no title because there is no point. It isn't a story, not a poem, just something I came up with one day. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293189/ a sip of blooddrained by a lovergathering the drops off his backlicking her fingers clean;the taste of passion and sweet depression fills her mouthshe salivates for a sample of himwide eyed in anticipation.lips as full and red as his c**k is throbbing and purpleshe slaps her a*s as s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293154/ I look in the mirror but dont recognize who I seeI see the inner demons coming out to play:Four-year-old temper, 17-year-old attitudeNarccisistic as the rich b***h widow across the street,Sarcasm, violence, depressed like the emo f***s who roam the mall.Let me guess...its life?f**k that... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293151/ Quarantined like an animal, a murdererBlood smeared across her like battery acid after a car accident She was the ultimate suspect, 13 inch bayonetSliced the bodyBlade shimmered like rain from cloudsBlood scintillating- it was a pond. Her body crumbled in the corner of her .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293146/   Blood drips from torn fleshTendons severedBones protrude like an axe in a tree trunkVeins pumpingHeart throbbing, pulsatingCrime? Murder? Deceit?Sensual? Pleasure? Erotica?A night of two talesWas it sheer pleasure, brought to a deadly extreme?Or a dual homicide, car.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293138/  Vicious stabs, signed in blood dropletsSelf perpetuating woundsFather’s voice, thinks stab well Christ within me,Christ before me,Christ above me.Christ in quiet,Christ in danger,Christ be with me,Christ be dead. Garden of headstonesPlantation of bon.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293136/ Crimson, orange, yellow, brown, crispSlap across the face,Broken by roaming creaturesGathering the last of the wild huckleberries and acorns.Trees bare and shiver in the breeze.Branches dead as a graveyardMore leaves are in the creek and covering burrows than in the air.Walking along t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/SiYM/293134/