http://slow.writerscafe.org/WolfMoon The original writings of author Wolf_Moon en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776128607 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 He&nbsp;breaks my heart with those words, and Icradle the shattered&nbsp;remnants of my perfect life Oh, lord, what a fool I've been madeand by none other than myselfFor whose fault is love and ambition thanthe one inflicted thusly?&nbsp;Love&nbsp;fades in time, but, I thought thatI .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/504439/ She walks to a silent beatstreaked hair, a plethora of shadeshiding the neon cordsstreaming from her ears.Feeding sound (endless music)into her willing mind(it drowns out ordinary woes.)&nbsp;She doesn't know or even care&nbsp;who passes her, pauses to&nbsp;staresHer deadened eye.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/502860/ Inspector Drew: Mr. Morency, is this thing on?&nbsp;Mr. Morency: Yes, sir, of course. It is recording us as we speak.&nbsp;When you wish to turn it off, just press this button. I'll go now, sir.&nbsp;*sound of a chair scraping against the floor, then the door opening and closing*&nbsp;In.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/494196/ No, my dear, but what are we? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/489214/ He knew her by her cherry red lips. Maraschino cherries, sacharrine sweet, melting on his tongue into a pool of scarlet sugar. With those lips, she kissed him goodnight every evening before sending him off to bed. Once, he had dabbed the lipstick off his cheek to taste it, to see if it was as sweet .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/463771/ The girl pauses, running her hands over the spine of a book.Perhaps I'll write my own novel someday, she thinks, bitterly. Hers is a pretty face, but with a porcelain fragility that has, perhaps, cracked too many times. Her eyes are ever wary, and her mouth is a wavering line of&nbsp; http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/446888/ She was never really completely the outcast.Just the girl whom you know vaguely, the one who is always there at the edges of everything- a bit pretty, but not exeptionally, with the kind of face that you can forget in an instant. She isn't shunned, but isn't included; her schoolwork is just averag.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/436018/ I wrote a poem a while back, with the same title, on Writer's Window. This was originally based on that poem... but I like it better the way it is now. More brutal. I suppose it counter-balances the poem <I>Listen to the Rain{Again}</I>. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/434992/ &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/434575/ &nbsp;Asphalt scrapes my broken heartbut above the clouds are bloomingdreams are broken easily(so are promises)still, today the sky is bluewhen he said he loved me(he didn&rsquo;t mean forever)swathed in sunlight, everything looks clearerbut tomorrow I die again.&nbsp;&nbsp; http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WolfMoon/433869/