http://slow.writerscafe.org/Beatrice%20Noir The original writings of author Beatrice Noir en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776021711 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 i laugh, a laugh of injustice as tho my life has been used.whisper gospel at the bus stops, only humanity cannot hear the word of reason, the voice of inner selfuntainted by the light of day.heir doktor, i call out to him when my days have come to their end.he is death uncloaked, cast in t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/391140/  the beat doesnt flow in my viens,i drink cold tea and there is norhythmic snaps in my ears,.i sing the softest blues, but my lips have never kissed greatness.there is but silence on my skin,not a single fallen shard of simple poetics.i am not, can not, be as the sky,the tides.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/385645/  I gasp shallowly in the night, my mind racing, racinglike the cars sucking up the pavement. leaving in their dust gas chambers of death for us all.waves of irridesant greed pulses thru the oldest and most wise.not even the gentle ting of coins flowing from a dirty hat can sooth the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/347699/  A stranger came to talk to me, to tell me stories of my past. His voice whispered melodicaly with each fallen snow flake,every word silently landing and melting into me. Filling me with morethen any winter white out could.The darkness of my night soaked room, clashed with his brill.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/346782/ Are we all like this? Alone. Having pushed everyone away, but still grasping the half crumbled words in our shaking hands.  Not such a glamorous life. Stained floors and peeling walls, that will surelyfall as the sun at days end.What can I say? It`s what we wanted,what we`ve beg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/274927/  I can smell the death playing at the edge of spring.lips humming a soft tune, like rose petals.my skin itches, twitches under the touchof cold gloom, slowly sinking in. i cant keep buried under the snow much longer, my toes are starting to show,  the houndswith fur like su.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/261299/  I hear a ticking caught inside me, Trapped between flesh and bone.Whispering every movement, As if it wasnt my own. The voice of addiction,So tiny and unreal.Over come with madness, At least it makes you feel.But as with all things, There will be an end.Just like whic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/261298/ she spoke of fragile limbed sparrows, drapped in delicate lightand beautiful women.she wrote of wonderful tragities,all from the eyes of a lover.a secret hate brewed within her, the loveof the slight letters printed on faint lines became mocking, and hurtful.living in a world.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/231463/ there was once a garden inside me,it grew from between flesh and bone.wraping me in green lush leaves, fingers of earth. tiny locking thorns kept me from moving, too manyflowers blooming.the sky turned gray and far into the distance. there was once a garden inside me,it was beautiful.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223155/ kiss between my fingers, and i`ll show you whatpeople are always talking about, my hands glide over velvet lips, a garden bathed in thesoft light of night.caught between the silence and the floorboards, our lingering breath will lay.the foundation will hear us for days to come, a g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223152/ the individual died before the moon met with the stars and created the beauty of night.mass waves of self flooded the streets from here to texas, the elders stood and watched with eyes bleeding.methane choked out the spring flowers, clouded the mystic rivers and took over the darkne.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223138/ could i ever speak the words, if i found them, to forgive you?not with your words scraping out my insides, not with your hands still digging out my flesh.i could sing the saddest blues, but my voice would never reach you.could never rip into your skin, like my finger nails.it doesnt ma.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223130/  Bring with you what you must, butdont trample the flowers on your way.The rivers will run much longer then your feet ever will, the sun will go on warming hearts well after your`s has burnt out.The trees will breathe life, creat life and sustain our lives, in a way you could never. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223115/  whisper, whisper, whisperto me the song of winter.dance snow flakes on my bare skin, freezing over. i become a shimmering pond.a cold sky lays down, a heavy dark love. holding us to the earth, a blanket to keepus from getting trapped in to tunnles of arctic winds. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223102/  we can imaginelight filtered rainbows scattered across fragile skin,and the ups and downs of lives unlived, un breathing.even the outcome of burrials between friends on icey winter nights.but when the w****s collide, we were speachless. never to know what would come next. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223080/  the cabaret is in full swing, the smoke is thick and the soft voices amused. theater for the evening, on all accounts. the girls in their best dresses and men showing them off. i stand center stage, the third act of the night.breathless.but when the piano starts gliding notes out.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beatrice-Noir/223076/