55 Fiction: Beautiful Girl

You’re the kind of beautiful that needs an amount of recovery to get over when gone.  Black dress against peach skin.  Dark hair held up by magic, lips shining red.  I caught a glimpse of you but my eyes were captured.  Held hostage.

Beautiful girl, keep looking as you do.  You can make someone’s day.

55 Fiction: Waves

You make the want louder.
It’s there, always.
But you hand it a megaphone.

That vibration?
It’s you.
A need rumbling to escape against your body.

I can’t control my breathing,
not when you’re around,
or even on my mind.
Just the thought of you is a ripple in the water.

Baby, you’re causing waves.





I want to add that I got a bit of inspiration to write this after reading “Transition” by EC.  Her words are always a great jumping off point for something creative.  A spark of the mind.  Then mix in my own focus as of late and 55 words had to be trimmed down from much more.  

Anyways, just wanted to say thanks for the inspiration =)

55 Fiction: Written Beauty

She’s a poem.  All women are poems.  Past, present and future.  Some rhyme and hold a direct structure and rhythm.  Others are as wild as their hair caught in the wind.   But they’re all beautiful in their own way.  A drop of water from a melting ice cube on a hot day.  Beautiful and irresistible.


55 Fiction: Just Being Me

“I want to say something.”


“Something I shouldn’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“But I want to.”

“Oh my god.  Do it or don’t.  Stop fucking around.”

“I -,” the three little dots sat on her side of the phone for a long time.

“Spit it out!”

“I have to pee.”

“You’re so god damn annoying.”

“I know.”

55 Fiction: The Cause

“I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember what?”

“I don’t know.  I just can’t remember.  There was something there.  Something important and now its gone.  You know that feeling?  Where you know you wanted to keep something but you let it slip through the cracks?”

“I do.  Or something similar.”

“Like what?”

“I caused the cracks.”

55 Fiction: How Long Does A Smile Last?

I measured the days in her smiles.  Some were short but sweet.  Others went on and on while the sun nor the moon held jurisdiction over them.  I’ve lived lifetimes through her smiles and grew old at the corners of her lips.  Like the last leaf falling from a tree I’ll die when she stops.

Those Red Lips

You are made of magic, do you know that?

It’s the only explanation for the power in which I’m held.

Earthly phenomenon cannot do what you do,

and I have never seen lips so deep red in my life.

Blood stained

Wine coated through

Dark cherry sweet

Those red lips,

my god,

those red lips.

A few 55 fiction pieces

“I’d die for you,” he looked at her waiting for her to look back.

“Stop being so dramatic,” she swatted at his hand, “it’s just a game.”

“Love isn’t a game.  Love is real.  This is real,” his eyes were burning a hole through her.

“No, this is Call of Duty.  Which is a game.”


The most beautiful name I can think of is Francesca.  The most beautiful girl I know carries that name, too.  Her dark hair and eyes put me in a trance whenever I see her.  I’m in love with her.  I’ve told her this.  And even though she’s never returned those three words, I’ll never stop.


I’m sorry I made a mistake and that you were in the way of it.  You deserved better and I need to let you go, but its not easy.  It’s hard saying goodbye to you.  Someone I had to stop knowing before I wanted to.  You’re someone I told that I loved and you left.


I never liked wine but I liked her and since she liked wine I always kept some around.  She would drink it and I would watch as her smile loosened along with her dress.  Her eyes told me when she was ready.  Her lips said when she was hungry.  Her body spoke a different language.


I care too much.  I need to stop that fucking habit.  I want the world to miss me just a little bit, and even then its never enough.  I’m getting there though.  Sometimes I don’t give a shit.  Sometimes my middle finger is sore from how often it gets a workout.  Sometimes fuck the world.


If I could spend my life locked in a moment between your thighs I’d beg for eternity.  Let me get drunk on your sex.  Take advantage of my hunger and don’t think.  Arch your back and dig your heels into my shoulders.  Fill the air with your voice.  I want to make your body quake.


You can get addicted to people, their presence and their voice.

When you look around and don’t see them you feel a mood swing,

when you do catch their eye it’s as if your hearts playing hop scotch.

Addiction takes its toll on everyone though.

When the fix is gone is when the pain hits.