http://slow.writerscafe.org/calliemahzoo The original writings of author C. Bookman en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776156312 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 The soundtrack of my life, baby, it'sheavybassrockdrummachinebeatscountrytwangoperaswingjazzelectricviolinbeautiful.It's (you're)My everythingtonight,tomorrow,(tomorrow comes today,)ten minutes ago;whenwe kiss in a shadow,waitinguntil we fall.I should tell youall at once,I'd do anythingfor you.I don.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504108/ Sweet littlepowdered sugar pagesdust the hoursI spend sitting hereon the top of the world.Tragedies and poetic tracingsof reality.Here, endings arenearly never happyand beginningsdon't even matter.Innocent coffeedrinking bystandersdon't even realizethat I'm losing it allwhile they chat awayabout dre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504099/ Stale inspiration and lukewarmWords aren't enough for me, darling.Where did you go, dear? The real you,Not this painted on masterpieceOf polished mediocrity.I want my baby back, the oneWho made up nonsense words, and saidHe would never ever leave me.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504098/ Trying to listen inon silence's sneaky conversations,the ones all made up ofdeep breaths and heartbeatsand autumn wind on fallen leaves;next to nothing,that's that last I (never) heard from you.Now that our blank pagesare long gone,my story's finally getting interesting.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504097/ Well,he never wasMr. Perfect Prince Charming,but always he was the man of my dreams.My heart never raced,my hand never shook;I never fellhead over heels,dizzy with desire...I always just was,and now we just are.There was no shockor surpriseor butterflies-in-the-stomach happiness;just contentednessat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504095/ Bow stuck to headband,mind all full of awkward momentsand shy smilesthat shouldn’t have been.Who can be sureexactly why (or how)one finds inner peace at nearly-sixteen?Between the semi-alcoholic fondueand my ace of diamonds,I stopped wondering. Myself,I prefer the cheese.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504094/ We'll end our dispute one day.A bloody battle for power over our emotions,destined to end in heartbreak.We've danced around love for a year and a half now.You step left when I step right;I dip, you drop,you stumble, I break.It's a twisting tango of kissesand torn stitches,and I'm starting to wonderi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504093/ Conundrums of benzeneradicals and conjugated ionsswarm beside my train of thought;(backandforthandleftandrightandwrong)barley brushed by the flying gravelI call dreams and you call crazy.I'm going all tunnel-visionedand I've lost my brakes;this new-fashioned steam enginedoesn't go in reverse.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504092/ Ashes flutter likebirds on gentle wings;caressing the airdelicately,each and everyfeather like agentle dream.Hear the whisper?It’s a silent song ofjoy and despair andkisses andlust in themoonlight; endlessnights, dancingon my senses. Ipress my fingertips toquiet lips, and silencerushes inswift.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504091/ You slather on a latex silhouette;secreted eternity drops upinto your concrete garden filledwith soft champagne secrets.Boy, take a boiling breathof that nude sky - let smokedancers soar through your thoughtsand slip past your commercial tongue.Don't let black and white eyes lieto your technicolor s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504088/ SHE: Why do I even try? Anymore, all we are is another angry couple, destroying the romantic fantasies of the young and naive. Give up already! I don’t need you anymore than you need me. Give up on us; we’re too far gone. HE:&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504086/ Chipped paint, a striped cityskyline across my back;like bold red blue greenjewels strung togetherby stiff dull metal,supporting supported framesof metaphor and verse.It's a mural-painter's ladder,color splattered, with abroken rung from too manydecorated walls.My technicolor joker's stool,sitting a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504085/ Streams of blue-grey chromesettle along the foldsof a second-rate paint job;I am skydiving throughthe streets of summerin the backseatof this rusty old Mustang,its tires climbing upinto my idea of heaven. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504084/ Halfway through a glass ofkerosene on the rocks,(Half full, half empty; who cares?It still does its job.)with a sulfur tippedtoothpick between my teeth,I found myself too tear-soakedto coax a spark.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/calliemahzoo/504083/