Doitean Stories

Sometimes I think I can write

3 notes

To The First

I remember the touch of your skin against mine:

The smoothness of your breast under my fingertips;

The strength of your legs wrapped around my waist.

My nostrils are filled with the ghost of your scent,

The shampoo in your hair and the mix of our sweat.

I can still taste your lips on mine at night,

And feel the pulse of your neck as my teeth dug in.

The play of light and shadow on your skin;

The flash of your teeth when you smiled;

Your hair, dyed wine red, spilled across the pillow;

Images of you dance across my vision.

Your moans echo in my ears,

Along with your whispered confessions and curses.

The memories are worn and tired, but I haven’t let them fade.

Filed under poetry writing sonnet sex memory

8 notes

Sweet Dreams

At sundown I made sure the window was locked, and then closed the blinds. After that, I covered all the mirrors in the house with cloths cut to fit them. It was an old routine, carried over from childhood, to keep away monsters. 

I sat on the couch and watched television for a few hours. There was nothing interesting on, just the standard clichéd sitcoms and police dramas, and insipid reality shows. It didn’t matter what was on, though. I sat and stared at the screen, listened to the canned laughter, so I wouldn’t have to stare at the bare walls or listen to the silence of an otherwise empty apartment.

At eleven, I turned off the television and went to brush my teeth. As I brushed, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to eat dinner. “Fuck it,” I muttered to myself. Missing a few meals wouldn’t kill me.

On my way to bed I noticed the calendar. My eyes went straight to today’s date, the nineteenth. It would have been our tenth anniversary. I tore the calendar off the wall and tossed it in the trash, as I had everything else that reminded me of her.

The bed welcomed me with warm blankets and a cool pillow. But sleep did not welcome me. I lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. No matter how hard I tried not to think, my brain simply would not shut off. I spent all night reviewing everything that had gone wrong, everything I could have done differently. Just like every other night. It was a new routine, to let the monsters out of my head.

Maybe if I’d been more attentive, spent less time worrying about work, I’d have caught the warning signs…

Finally, around three, I began to drift off to sleep. That’s when I heard the tapping, like fingers, on my window. Except nobody could tap on a seventh-story window. I felt like a child again, hiding under the blankets from the monster outside my window. I always reassured myself, when I was little, that as long as I didn’t see it the monster couldn’t hurt me.

I sat up in bed and looked at the window. A shadow seemed to hover outside, behind the blinds. I got out of bed and slowly walked across the room. I didn’t really expect to see anything when I raised the blinds; I was an adult, after all.

She was beautiful. Her pale skin and bright eyes were just as lovely as I remembered them, almost shining in the moonlight. I whispered her name, and she smiled.

I opened the window to let her in. She shook her head, and beckoned me to join her instead. I stepped out to join her in the darkness, free from monsters at last.

Filed under short story fiction

2 notes


I stare at the white expanse and

My mind is blank.

Thoughts rush in to fill the void:

You can’t do this.

You have no talent.

I shake my head. I won’t give in to those thoughts today.

I reach inside, cut myself open and bleed through the keyboard.

Filed under poetry writing

2 notes


I’m lost in the taste of your lips,

The softness of your skin against mine

As we explore each other in darkness.

Your scent fills my nostrils

As I bury myself inside you,

Stronger than any drink.

Filed under poetry if only sex