Day 201: Strangled Love

Strangled Love

I cannot love you anymore

I am done

I have given everything

And you have taken nothing

But the best pieces

Now shattered and disfigured

Unrecognizable to even death


I cannot love you anymore

You are torture

The cruelest kind

That wrings the neck wet

And sticks probes of fire

To ignite electric harm

A fence singed into screaming flesh

I cannot love you anymore

My heart a piano

To be tuned and banged upon

To be opened

Used for company

And left in isolated silence

No longer

I cannot love you anymore

You are the slow bleed and I am emptied

You are the wind and I am chaffed

You are the widow black

And I am babe

Last light extinguished in poisoned bite

I cannot love you anymore

If I am sun

Then you are surely night

If I am proximity, then you are distance

If I am truth, then you are bundled secrets

If I am voice, then you be the empty echo

I cannot love you anymore

With throat aflame

Eyes streaked crimson

Ears mangled in blistered bursts

Soul purged of stagnant dreams

I dismiss you

I cannot love you anymore

This pleading woman

Garbed in netted veil

lingering in your vacancy

I strangle her with vengeance

Until she knows with last breath

I cannot love you anymore


Images and Words by Samantha Craft, August 2012


Photos taken at Mt. Rainier National Park, Washington, USA


Captures my heart, indeed.

Day 200: Goodbye Sunshine

For day 200 I couldn’t think of anything better than James Blunt singing and stripping! Now that’s hot (and snowy cold).

A fictional piece of writing based on emotions of the past.

Goodbye Sunshine

There were small dresses hovering above.  Light spilled in through the bottom of the closet door in the shape of a crescent moon.  From where I sat, I let the moon kiss the back of my hand.  Then I stretched my hand through the narrow crack beneath the door and wiggled my tiny fingers in the space outside the darkness.  After counting to three, I pulled my hand back and returned it to the thick warmth of my dog’s fur.

An hour earlier, draped in my yellow shooting-star-patterned nightgown, I head reached across the dining table, and said, “One plate for you handsome Mr. Thumper and one for you dashing Blue Pony.”  My animals stared back at me and smiled then, Pony resting on his side in the side chair, because he kept falling down with his bad balance, and Thumper on his tail with his paws on the table.  “No arms on the table,” I said, and placed Thumper on his rump.  “That’s better. Did you wash your hands?”  They nodded.  “Did you say grace?”  They nodded again.  “Good,” I praised, picking up my red plastic piggybank from my chair and taking a seat.

“Good job,” Mother said, as she walked in through the kitchen door.  She plopped down a platter of cold meatloaf and a blue bowl of buttered potatoes, and then lit up four candles.

I held my plastic piggybank up to my ear.  “What’s that? Let me see.”  I looked up.  “He wants to know if he can come to the sitter’s on Monday.”


The rest of this story is in the book 🙂


© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.