Tag Archives: fiction

your ego has no halo

your ego has no halo


why when you get laid do i get screwed?

and you’re always dressed, while i blush nude

newsflash, your ego has no halo

her friends are all men

seems again and again

no key to their vault

it just wasn’t her fault

she was too needy

cared not for those greedy

aced crossword puzzles

with inked letter bubbles

angels accept cash

shorter lines do get fast

true colors seem dull

staring at stilled seagulls

she does not exist

or so she’ll still insist

scene selections read

while union jobs are dead

magic wand hard core

the one tool she adored

her hands are tied tight

she refuses to fight

a chuckle to laugh

cheeky smirks just in half

i’m headed somewhere

from here and everywhere

dragonflies in seas

firefly bumblebees

reader discretion

advised to perfection

she a puppeteer

strings were her biggest fear


from means she created

she directs opal

three toys in total

they may not be real

but she knows that they feel

wood and fake faces

drunk and so wasted

string master unseen

talents seemingly obscene

the insanity

professional vanity

after a while past

time turned quick and fast

remaining unseen

she then could twirl her dream

puppets and not dolls

sculptures not stupid balls

it’s the innocent

that want us to invent

sick really sick

these wooden sticks

varnished and painted

cracked and sainted

trust me lay low

cause your ego got no halo

you fool your halo has the ego





Bathe in the smugness of others

Flirt if it is a must to interact

It’s of no importance

You’re the task-at-hand

You’ve grown unnoticed

Then uglier with greed

Witness the competition

Try to entrap your ego

You easily spot the crazy ones

By the sheer fact they choose a straw

No children to neglect here

Let’s say good-bye

Yes the crime has been noted

My finder’s fee is large

I must take your sport

Standing tall in this sudden crowd

Emotions clear by the hair on your head

Let’s speed dial the band

They fall distinctly and lightly weak

Pains one to watch

When they claim better

No rhyme in a rhythm

Wicked to beat

Yet smelling sensational

My ink fades to blot

Noticing blood in the water

The victim laughs knowing a drop

Will create clouds in the wetness

Maybe just bad teachers

Or stubborn to be taught

Ovulation dictates my choices

Knowing you have been a mother

Without a daughter to be seen

Spaghetti’s and Sprite

Meals eaten continually

Run and win to kill

Maybe being dirty

Will take you back to Paris

I parked and bored

Some guess this never to be proved

Third Cup is next to scatter

I’m not at all impressed

Fingernail tips so black

Same color as my cousin

Let’s go let’s go let’s go

Where can I bathe I have to know.

My Weapon your Lesson


I am Changing, Why? Time is……

Another Vampire Feast

Yet you enter me at least

I will never let go

Your desire I now know

To show you I am wide

My secret hides on my other side

Only alone do I feel this pleasure

Hidden are my gifts of pressure

Fears undeserving far to long an

Love, immortal, is our song

Time I pray will rid of his kills

Turning slowly I can’t sit still

Now I was able to let you see

My weapons are none more than me

The source that is killing

the very one I find thrilling

Tis far greater to mock my mistakes

In my life, immortal, no saviours gate

Time I suppose will help me with skills

More techniques to learn, rules and kills

Come I will never let go

Your desire I now know

To show you I am wide

My secret hides on my other side

Only alone do I feel this pleasure

Hidden are my gifts of treasure

Fears undeserving far too long

Love, not immortal, is our song

Time I pray will rid of his kills

Turning slowly I can’t sit still

Now I was able to let you see

My weapons are none more than me

The factor that is killing me

Is the very one I cannot feel just see

It is far greater to beg for my mistakes

And in my life, now immortal not fake

Time I suppose will help perfect my skills

Techniques teach obedience whilst one kills

Rather choose to obey and respect

Distribute fear to begin I will Infect

Chase as effect to hunt thy prey

Just to judge their fear this way

You do not know what I can do

The silence you hear, is calm for you

Mistake me again for being kind

Reveals stupidity in your witty mind

Make no mistake I live in peace

I can watch myself even as beast

Time I pray will rid of his kills

Turning slowly I can’t sit still

Should you hurt just one I love

Or mock my being just look above

Search for protection as you look up there

Do know the prey you hurt with no care

See and hear the clarity I speak

As you only do know we will meet

What? Is it possible to respect your smut?

Do hope your joking, your finished and cut

You the type who laugh even now

encourage in sequel, will show how

Time I suppose will help perfect my skills

Techniques teach obedience whilst thy kills

You so perfect in all of each day

Run, start now, my love, my next preY

Until eve of Tomorrows Day

I must know why I change, what’s biting my way

Regardless mY weapon, will be your lesson.

Trust you may, come lets preY


I need my curser to help me out

I just know if this curser I seem to stare at all day would blink to the rhythm of my i-tunes song that is blasting, I would get much more work done.

Computer Hassles? Phone 13 G-E-E-K

Computer Hassles? Phone 13 G-E-E-K (Photo credit: Jessica.James)

To even increase my productivity and creativity further this would help;

  • clap screen to different faint pantone background colours.
  • threaten me gangster style if i have not typed in over 5 minutes.
  • I would be even more eager to work if my curser was a mini coloured Louis Vuitton purse.
  • squeezing my eyes really tight reacted in the next perfect word to type.
  • a screen wiper freshened my screen by cleaning all the cigarette smoke off after every 3 cigarettes.
  • in a non-computer sounding voice, rather realistic male voice once every half hour told me how gorgeous and talented I was.
  • spell check actually worked.
  • my office chair had bluetooth to my mac and when I try to stand up my mac would say “no more munchies and wine.”
  • a soothing aroma, in a timely matter oozed gently from under my keys when it felt fit.
  • touching my screen with 2 fingers gave me a replacement of 3 minute mirror, not revealing my writing hairstyle.
  • large red WARNING letters flash when I write something stupid [I heard that]
  • when I get a reflection of myself from my screen, it would have really big boobies!
  • that a replica of my hand would come out of my camera hole and give me a slap when I write blogs to write blogs.


Any others?


Have a great Day!!!!!

Weaker than Yesterday, Stronger than Tomorrow

She cried

somewhere deep in her chest

like the lions roar

but somehow stronger

not even remembering

the details that brought her here

and as she trembled

she felt that when

yet nothing else

could make the difference

for an empty soul

like her broken heart

and confused mind

physical destruction

her self harm

her life had brought her here

for no particular reason

with no particular purpose

the pain is what drove her

now it’s what owned her

and nothing can change that

not even a reconciliation

she feels no self-pity

no guilt

knows she is innocent

but fools herself

into believing

that all be true

she knows no truth

and has no fight

unable to strike

without consequences

far greater than her pain

she has no one to turn to

know one to talk to

in theory at least

because how could you talk

of such horrible things

that almost brought her to death

she’s weaker than yesterday

stronger than tomorrow

sits numb in today

as does she

she is anonymous

must be protected this way

will die to practice this

and live to ensure it

why her

before even she could move

her destiny was determined

her mother completely unaware

if only we could see

what lies before us

before it does

just maybe

just maybe

we could stop pain

since when does the mean

rule the world

such a stupid question

from a naïve girl

wonder what a magician

would cost to remedy

the life of the child

out of surgery

into recovery

from a broken heart

and she to be opened

and rectified

but not before the child

seems they will start again

with strength in there will

she cannot

now will left to be shown

a capture snapshot

of just one moment

when together they were

as one

knowing nothing of the future

that would bring them such pain


ruining their lives


and never


to a young sweet teenager. And it has been told she is seemingly exactly like her mother.

I’m trying to find out how to write like me

My life as a white, female drug dealer, with all the elements excluding the audiobook which will take a little longer to complete.

First the Novel‘s trailor in video;

VIDEO for novel promo

Revised Cover

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.  This novel is far more than a story about a drug dealer.  It is delivered however by it’s core context through the eyes of a girl named ‘SKY’ who sadly is also an addict.  She kindly let’s us accompany her along her journey to the gates of insanity due to drugs, no direction as a child, a desperate search to be loved, trying to feel normal, when violence never left her life since the age of 8.

Amazing to be alive today, she hopes sharing her chaos and consequences may touch someone who needs to know they are not alone and there is hope.  We all have a story, and when we share a little bit of ourselves we never know who, but almost always help someone else.  She thought she never had a chance.  And look at her today, no known explanation, but she is sharing her story as hard as it may be.  She is learning that writing is very healing.  She has just begun.

Some Reviews;

What an amazing story … I saw the size of you … and couldn’t help wondering how unbelievably strong, brave, courageous and determined you were to stay alive despite all of what happened to you! I am truly in awe of you? You are a true survivor!  I agree that there is a reason why you were able to survive all of what happened to you … your book is the first step.
I so enjoyed reading it … once I got a chance to start … I could not put it down.
Absolutely, you need to share your story in the high schools … and I urge you to make contact with CAMH as I know that they welcome clients to share their stories on many levels.  I think your idea to bring it to the high schools where you get to address the “youth” is a must do.  Think of how many teenagers you can reach … girls that may have experienced or are experiencing what you did … by telling your story you will encourage young girls to speak out against rape and/or any other criminal behaviour towards them!  It will also make teenage boys think twice and/or be more aware of how unacceptable that kind of criminal behaviour is unacceptable and “girls” will speak out against them to prevent others from being hurt – and that there are consequences.  (The same goes for any boys that may have been invaded in the same way.)
THANK YOU for sharing your story with me … my “food addiction” and “unemployment status” in comparison with what you have endured in your life since the age of 8 … helped me to get a better focus on my life … I have lived in a “glass house”.  I am grateful especially for the richness I have stemming from family (my backbone) and friends.
You are an amazing woman …
I will pass your book along
  • Anonymous
As I read this, I wanted to jump right into the story and help this lost child. Well written. I will be looking forward to the next chapter.
  • Anonymous

Where to begin? This book is both compelling and shocking. The author pulls no punches and takes the reader on a journey; an honest, brutal journey which examines the nature of drug addiction and mental illness. Rarely have I come across a book which is thought-provoking, tragic, violent, uplifting and educational…all at the same time.

Frankly, not only was I unable to put this book down, I was also unable to stop thinking about its content for several days after reading it. If you only buy one book this year, make sure it’s “My life as a white, female drug dealer.” Not only is it the most important book this year so far, it will change your perspective about the life of an addict, forever.

The rest of reviews and available in eBook format and softcover format can be found on facebook, amazon, smashwords, LuLu and createspace, then also distributed for sale at Barnes and Noble, Kobo, apple, Diesel, kindle, etc.
I hope I have included what needs to be said, in this one post finally!  Thank you for your patience as the scattered newbie in me is trying to find my voice.
Two poetry books of a series are also available just the same as above.
I MUST add, all graphics and the execution of this video were designed and formatted by Chris Harrison, Creative Director.
Thank you and have a safe 24!
Centre for Addiction and Mental Health

Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Toll to the Dragon – Flash Fiction by Mike aka mckbirdbooks

Mike is certainly an author and editor I respect and strive to be as creative.  He writes primarily as do I for Hubpages.  His avatar and pen name is mckbirdbooks.  This link will take you there and I promise if you read some of his work, you too will be an instant fan.


This fast fiction just has to get more exposure in my opinion.  Enjoy.  From a dedicated and inspiring writer.



Toll to the Dragon


It’s the middle of the night. The campfire embers glow enough that there is some visibility in the small clearing where I am sleeping. I hear a loud thump near my head and sit upright startled at the noise. And the closeness of the noise has my heart pounding rapidly. Peering into the darkness I cannot make anything out. Turning this way and that I see what I think is a tree stump just off to the left. A tree fell into the campsite!

No, the stump moves and a neck and face move – eye to eye with me. Curiosity on the part of the dragon, I suppose. First, the only sound I hear is the heart in my chest struggling to get away, wondering why I am still there. Then that sound is drowned out by a snort. A spittle spewing snort that leaves a dripping mess. Being eye to eye with an arrogant dragon is not childs play.

Without thought I am on my feet. In one second I will be out of the clearing away from the spittle and brimstone smelling dragon. Away, where there are places to hide, rocks to throw, away – safe. I pivot then it’s teeth sink into my leg and I am lifted high off the ground screaming – for an audience of one.

An incisor has punctured my leg and I am bleeding badly. Its tooth is jammed between the two bones in my leg. The wound is such that the dragon is having a hard time finishing the job. I am caught in its teeth, like popcorn. I’m there, I’m annoying. Dangling by one leg from the mouth of a dragon is not my chosen destiny.

He flings his head high to dislodge me. As he does, I reach up and grab a whisker with my left hand. The whisker is bristled and cutting into the flesh of my hand. I must hang on. Now I have some leverage, as I am being bucked back and forth. The situation is hopeless.

My trousers are soaked with blood. I remember I carry penknife. It is a small penknife incapable of doing any damage. But it is now my only thought. With my right hand I go into my trouser pocket and get the penknife – open it.

The dragon spies the knife and gives such a snort of mirth that I am almost freed – but the incisor has punctured the leg. My head is spinning I will soon be gone. With the last bit of strength I shove my arm into the nostril of the dragon. Into the membrane of the nostril I push the blade to the hilt. I withdraw the arm oozing mucus.

The clamping of the jaw finally severs the leg and I fall all those feet to the ground. The flames from the mouth of the dragon finish me. A burnt lump, smoldering on the cold ground where a moment ago I lay sleeping.

The dragon gyrates hitting its head against a tree, then on the ground, and paws at its snout. It snorts fire again and again. The penknife holds.

In memoriam

April 15

Tax day

Toll to the dragon on hubpages

Mike thank you for this piece and sharing it.  Where’s the next one BTW?

My life as a white, female drug dealer, chapter One


Chapter One

Chapter One




What has not killed me in my life, has defined me.
My behaviors, actions and mistakes have defined me more.
My entire life revolved around, selling, buying and cooking drugs.
I never knew I had any other choice.  My name is Sky.

It isn’t hard for me to remember the first time I saw drugs.  It was the very same afternoon I saw a pistol, not like the standard 10 or 12 gauge shotgun Dad had kept at home.  But Dad had been gone and remarried five years by then.

There was a new kid at school. He was popular, adored by all the girls, and the son of a Federal Agent for Law Enforcement, just transferred to our city.  No mother and no reasons offered as to why.

I had no clue why two weeks new to school he asked me to ditch to spend the afternoon with him at his house.  No one would be home and he had some cool cop stuff to show me.  Nothing felt safer than hanging with a policeman’s son.

The rebellious and fearless teenager I was at 14, confidently jumped at such an invitation.  I too was very popular and desired by most of the boys.  I never let on to the rumors that weren’t true, specifically of me being a slut or promiscuous.  I opted to say nothing.

Truth be told, I was a virgin and had no plans in giving up my secret truth by breaking a childhood oath for reasons I prefer not to speak of.

At noon, he came and got me.  His name was John. It could have been any Joe, John or Jack for that matter.  The situation was a reason to get out of school.  I ditched school a dozen times, never caught, but also never anything to do when I did.  Today was going to be an adventure, for real.  Neither of our parents were the wiser, both were working, very busy and not very strict.

It was raining.  I can remember, like any teenage girl, worried that my hair would be a wreck.  Maybe I could ask John to use a blow dryer.  Suppose exposing my vanity this soon may not be cool.  Besides I was viewed as a tomboy and I had to maintain this persona to keep my friends.

Soaking wet, I entered John’s home, a huge bungalow, inner walls lined with cut logs of wood.  Surprising and shocking were the number of guns, displayed in glass cases, hanging on those wood walls.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling way out of my comfort zone.

It was a man’s home, justified by the lack of John ever mentioning his mother, or any form of a mother.  This and the absence of any female belongings.

He pranced around telling me the history of his dad’s guns.  I couldn’t hear him over my own self-consciousness thoughts that my hair was getting frizzy.

He couldn’t hold the excitement any longer to show me the rest of the home.  Starting first with a bolt-lock door into the den. Inside there were huge bricks marked evidence and wads of cash stacked neatly in an open safe.

He said the bricks were his father’s confiscated drug evidence. Mainly heroin and cocaine.  Not mentioning why they were there, I didn’t ask nor really cared to find out.  He took a knife from the desk drawer, stabbed a grey wrapped brick, exposing powder. It was white, and John’s confident offering told me it was cocaine.

There it was.  This was a twofold, potentially awkward situation.  First, I didn’t know why he spooned it out and kept it on the knife.  My expression surely gave up to admitting having never done this before.  Secondly, if I demonstrated fear, he would surely ditch me at school for all the kids to know something, not knowing what he would also make up.

I played it cool; like I understood what he meant by asking me to take a toot.  I said, “Right from the knife? Don’t you get more by taking it other ways?” He laughed and said “Trust me there’s lots here to play with”, then proceeded to snort some from the knife.  I am pretty confident he did so knowing I had no clue what to do.

Without hesitation, the fearless and still innocent naïve girl in me snorted as much off that knife as my lungs could inhale.  I figured I had nothing to lose, only new experiences to gain.  I prayed it wouldn’t make me lose control, but to no avail, it did just the opposite.

The first sensation was that of numbness in my nose and down the back of my throat.  My emotions for the first time in my life were controllable.  My feelings were that of a super-being.  I was happy.  I was not thinking of anything else.  I had no pain of the past, and surely not thinking of any event except that magnificent moment.  Instantly I wanted more.

As John laughed at my approach to this powder, within 30 seconds of snorting it, something inside me changed.  I knew this was the answer to my fears.

Within a minute I wanted to get higher, sustain this buzz to see how and where I could go within this world of ecstasy. This was a new and perfect world, where, anything felt possible.  John was most generous in sharing his father’s work materials.  He playfully invited me to come see his room.  He had the entire basement of the bungalow.  It was huge, even beneath the stairs exposed two secure bars.

Much less affected, I now noticed more gun racks in glass cases.  These all held pistols.  When asked, he said they were gifts from his dad.  I paid no mind to them along with handcuffs, Billy clubs and a few Officer hats.  He cranked Rod Stewart so loud it just enhanced my pleasure trip.

John was acting kinda strange, like he thought he was his father or something.

I only know that what transpired next started without me being aware, continued for what seemed like forever, and ended too late.

Somewhere between accepting more cocaine, feeling my anxiety, at the speed my heart was racing, the tone had instantly changed; I had been dragged and cuffed to the two poles supporting the stairs which would be my focal point for the next half hour.

I, in terror and strung out on coke, firmly told John to fuck off and release me as the cuffs were hurting my wrists.  Music blaring, I couldn’t scream and with just two legs free, I tried, but could not reach to kick him in defense. His response was silent and brought much more anticipated pain.

He handcuffed each leg, to what I do not know, nor remember.  I was bound for the unknown and now crying.  I never believed he was going to do what he did but was in a panic imagining what he would do.  I truly believed he was going to kill me once he stood in my view.

John stood to expose his cop hat, Billy club, two pistols clenched by two hands and that was all he was wearing.  He knelt down resting his right forearm on his right leg, grinned in that kind of way that is a mocking, warning things are going to get ugly.  All he said was:

“Sky, you act like such a lady at school, who knew you were such a whore.  You stole my dad’s drugs, well, now you have to be punished.  I got my Dad’s back.”

He slapped me hard across the face with the back of his hand splitting my left cheekbone open to bleed.  It stung like boiling water.  I stopped crying and tried focusing on anything except what was happening.  Being the daughter of a manipulative genius, some survival traits kicked in.  Besides, I clearly wasn’t dealing with a stable individual.

I wondered if he and his father shared this demonic hobby, or my god, what if he came home and was drawn downstairs by the blaring music.

I loved the band Bay City Rollers.  I closed my eyes and chanted their lyrics in my head continuously.  The coke was wearing off and I could feel my cheek swelling, what a sting.  Come on Sky, you can handle this thug.  He’s just a boy who needs to feel in control. “OK John, fine you got my attention, I am the slut I am known as.  But Baby, this could go a lot easier and certainly more fun if you let me touch you too.”

Once in awhile, even now, I can still smell his skin, 30 years later.  He had refused to un-cuff me.  “Sky, you’re not getting it, I don’t want you to touch me, and frankly I don’t want to touch you either.  See, it is because I have to.  Pretty, popular girls like you make entertaining victims.  All cool and fake, you need to be brought down to size.”

That was one of the scariest thoughts, I weighed 100 pounds, he about 150 just at 14.  Size wouldn’t have mattered with his strength.  His private, well-protected fetish was to torture and I was yet to find out what next.  As a virgin I didn’t know what to expect of sex or rape.  John announced this entire plan was about just that.  His kicks and punches slowly put me in a state of a bruised and bloody catatonic detachment.

I had no strength.  Fractured, weak and semi conscious, I just made sense of his words, the last I could comprehend. “Sky, Sky, Sky, this is going to hurt.  Well, hurt you, but pleasure me.”  He knew I was weak enough to faint, and definitely not have an ounce of energy to fight back.  With that, he unlocked my ankles, now swollen, red and scraped.  Still on my legs he ripped my panties off and spread my legs.

John pressed one gun to my right temple and the second pistol was the start of my life’s sexual pain.  John stuck the pistol in my vagina, then up my vagina.

The first thing to ever enter my vagina was a pistol.  I froze.  I was already in need of medical help, and in incredible pain. I thought I could take no more, but he was just beginning.

I became lost in a moment of desire, a desire for more cocaine.  I clung to this memory, that would scar me for life, and I had to numb its pain.  Numb it like the cocaine did, take away the pain and take me away from reality.  This combination of desire followed me my whole life.  For reasons that only began with John.


© Kimberly Gray



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