My writing makes me feel as if my soul is exposed. I’ve never been comfortable with that. I persist hoping the feeling will fade, but it never really does.
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Monday
Purple and pink flowersAdorned my dressIn a garment that wasn’t for day. I had awoken to silenceAnd endless heartacheIn a house that wasn’t my home. Each task I performed automatically,Like a program with a mortal soul. I had died, yet I remained,Like a ghost covered in flesh. From my book: Hushing the Voices Read more
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Surrounded By the Dead
I’m surrounded by the dead, Their memories in my head, Their photographs by my bed,I ponder what lies ahead. Their thoughts through me seep,Their pains ache and weep,Their agonies cut quite deep,My words through them seep. My writings are their choice,The whispers are their voice,In remembrance they rejoice,Their memories are my choice. I must pen Read more
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Edgar
The red berries on the bush in the backyard were the only color that bleak morning in November. My eyes sat fixated on their crimson coats, for everything else seemed as dead as I felt. I sipped my coffee, eyes transfixed, mind blank, body breathing yet dead inside. My skin appeared as grey as the sky Read more
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Aim
I wished it hereAnd I watch it fly,From the northern cornerOf the eastern sky. The weary travelerI had come to be,Many lonely milesNow far behind me. I had touched the sky,A glistening golden hue;My soul was remindedOf all it once knew. Yet in time it fadedAnd it flew once more,From the southern cornerOf the western Read more
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Writing Close to the Bone
Writing close to the bone is easy – sharing it is another story. There is something about allowing other people to read your innermost thoughts. I liken it to being naked in the town square. People are staring, some pointing, others snickering. The feeling can be exquisitely uncomfortable, but like anything new the novelty wears Read more
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The Indoctrination
Don’t think for yourself,You’ll get confused or lost;We’ve got all your answers,And they’ve all been glossed. Only we speak the truth,And there is much to fear;Yet with us you’ll have hope,To our rules you must adhere. This way to the promise,Our unquestioning sheep;But should you speak out,Guilt upon you we’ll heap. For we know too Read more
Flash Fiction and Short Stories
© 2025 S.B. Lacroix
SB LACROIX 