Lost

“Are you okay?” Dana thought for a moment before answering. Inside she knew how she felt but, she wasn’t sure if that’s what Alex was asking. Did she mean okay physically? If that was the case then, no, she wasn’t okay. She was bleeding and unsure as to whether or not Alex had noticed that something red was running from between her legs and seeping into the seams in the front seat of her car. Her legs had been wide apart while Alex’s fingers plunged deep inside her. At one point, she thought she was going to kick the windshield our but, it held.
It felt good; different but good until something broke. “How do you feel?” Broken. Dana felt broken but couldn’t explain that just yet. She took a deep breath to clear her throat and calm herself before she answered but one final thought escaped before her mouth could form the words. ‘I’m not okay at all. Mentally, this was too much for me to handle even at sixteen. Physically, well, I’m fucking bleeding! What the hell?’ The thought dropped off the edge of her mind and she spoke. “I’m fine. That was great. Are you okay?” “Yeah, sure. I’m fine. You sure came a lot. You must not do this often. Either that, or I was really that good.”
In the dark parking lot behind the Save-A-Lot they had pulled into after driving aimlessly around the city until they were completely lost, even the front seat of the car was too poorly lit for Alex to see that Dana wasn’t just excited about her experience. She was wounded by it. Alex spread her arms, wound them around Dana’s waist, and pulled her close. Dana winced in pain then, smiled.

A Matter of Time

Life charges us for things we do daily using the largest denomination in the known world--Time. We, as human beings, have the audacity to waste Time, lose track of Time and forget that Time exists as though it is not in any way, shape or form valuable to us.

We spend Time doing things that are meaningless with people who are insignificant in the grand scheme of things or are not worth our Time. And for what? What reason do we have to justify this misappropriation of funds that we have at our disposal without even having to earn them? Is it possible that in our grossly underused brains we truly believe that we can make up Time?

The truth is that once Time is lost, it can never be found. You cannot buy Time or substitute material possessions for the lack of Time spent with friends and loved ones. Time will not heal all the wounds created by your absences. Time does go on without you and even if you attempt to save Time you are wasting it because it cannot be bought, sold, or saved in an account for future use.

Time is precious and fleeting and worth more than we all may think. Time should be used wisely and never wasted or taken for granted. Be mindful of how you spend your Time here on Earth because, in spite of your naïve and grandiose beliefs, you won't live to see the end of Time.

A masterpiece... may be unwelcome but it is never dull ~Gertrude Stein

As a writer, I've faced many critics: writing workshops with fellow classmates critiquing my work, opinionated professors, friends and family that disagree for one reason or another with my content or subject matter, etc. I also include myself in that list. I am my own worst critic. I judge, scrutinize, over analyze, undo, redo, rework and even trash my own stories and poems. Sometimes, a perfectly good piece is set ablaze and, like a Phoenix, comes back to life in a very familiar form.

The one thing I never do is apologize for my work. It is mine. I take ownership of it and never regret how or why it came to be. It is as it is and what it is because I made it that way. I'm proud of it and when I'm most proud of it, I often share it for others to enjoy. It is not meant to harm or offend anyone but it is also not for the weak of heart or mind and so I preface my blog by saying that my writing is a way for me to express myself the only way I know how. Be it offensive or demeaning or derogatory or deleterious to my health, wealth or happiness, it is my expression of my thoughts and musings and is often times a completely schizophrenic episode in which the voices in my head write the story for me and I am unaware of its source.

I live my life to the fullest every day in hopes that I will never regret anything that I do either to myself or to someone I care about and for those I don't care about, I am incapable of regretting anything that I say or do to them anyway simply because I don't care and I write using the same philosophy. So, beloved readers, take everything that I write with a grain of salt--or sugar if you prefer--and don't ever get hung up on the words; they are just words. I did not create them, I do not own them, and at times they are not my own. I merely use them to express myself and occasionally entertain you.

In the words of the infinitely wise author Ms. Gertrude Stein "An audience is always warming but it must never be necessary to your work." I cannot, nor do I love you all but I hope that you can all appreciate and maybe even love reading my work almost as much as I love creating it.

Thank you ~Chianne

The Past

He used to look at me that way
The way he looks at her
Those eyes that pierce thru falling rain
And cause my words to slur
As though I'm drunk on liquored tears
And panting like a cur

He used to handle me that way
The way he palms her face
That hand that catches falling stars
And hangs them in their place
Encircled in a crown of them
Creating our own space

He used to want my love that way
The way he wants her now
The love that he so freely gave
He's giving to that cow
But when she leaves him all alone
I'll get him back somehow

But I won't hold my breath til then
I know it's in the past
And if our love was meant to be
I'm sure it would have last
And conquered every obstacle
That life put in our path

I have my memories of him
That's all that I could keep
And that's what keeps me warm at night
It moistens up my sleep
And causes every pleasant smile,
moan and growl that's cavern deep

So though she has the man I loved
That sow will never know
What it felt like to have him move
Inside my heart and soul

I pray she'll never be "the one"
and I hope she's not his last
She may rule his present but,
I'll always be his past.

That Drug

Afflicted...addicted to that stuff that wet dreams are made of.

On an endless high and the end is nigh if I don't try to force a quick withdrawal and attempt to stall the inevitable

From one thigh to the other and everything in between I suppress a scream for MORE...MORE

If you can do nothing else for me the least you can do is give me more of what I need and what I want and what I crave or I'll rant and rave for MORE!!

Coming down...settling down...we both may drown in the sweat and tears and booze that seeps from my pores to yours and back and forth and back and forth and in and out and out and in...this may be a sin but it is mine and I own it

I bought it with my body, I possess it in my mind, I tattoo my name upon it and write it in my rhyme

My passion, my obsession, my drug of choice that I'll rally for til I have no voice is you

Dream Date

I woke up from the dream and was dreaming

Within a dream and without one

I am in it and yet it is not mine



I felt and yet could not feel

That which made life real

That which divided reality

From the here and now to the then and there



I thought I was here but was there

In my mind…I’d stay there

Could live there and sleep there

And dream there



Whether with you or without you

I am home here and belong here

I brought you here to be with me

So that you see this is ours



I woke up from my dream and was dreaming

Without you and with you

We made it and were in it and of it

And yet it is not ours



I’m alone here because you’re there

We can’t reside here

We cannot live there

We are two dreamers with different dreams

Scentsation

That scent that your body makes

Not the one that you spray on

It makes me strong and want to

Grab on to you and hold you close

And make the most of the nights we

Share lying there in our underwear…or less

If that’s what we want, when we want it

Have to have it, long to grab it and lay close

And breathe deep…and fight sleep…and make heat

With one beat of our hearts and one touch of our skin

The one bed we lay in melds to our form; the form that

We form from being one from the rise of the Sun

To the end of the day, into night

We’ll sleep tight and breathe deep

The scent that our love makes

When we make love and are in love

And can feel love and smell love float

From my nose to your nose

Like the scent of a fresh rose

When the wind blows and now

Who knows where this scent will take us...

Beyond you and me into ecstasy

Where we both can be still and in it...our scent.