🌀Haiku 23 – Sunil


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2019. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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A very short piece about infidelity

Death, Strawberry & Friends

 

The eyes are windows to the soul, but if you see death, do you become it? If you see love end, how long should you stay in the void that’s left? Look into the eyes of the devil and he looks back at you, stare long enough and you become friends.

The door is open, and Senya see’s red – the hair of a women. Her back is beautiful, just the way she’s always wished her’s could be. Senya’s breathing is soft like a stalking animal, as she watches them on her bed. No meaningful thought has passed through her head since she got there, just her heart beating faster and faster while it leaks love. The red haired woman was writhing on top of him. Senya felt sick in her stomach. She watched the man she’s showed off to all her friends, grab Red’s posterior the way he would grab her before climax. The flesh of her perfectly plump ass rose through his fingers under the pressure. His breathing was heavy, and his grip was producing enough force to lift her weight & moisture off his hips, he was taking control from her.

Senya was slowly freeing herself of the numbness, the warmth of rage was beginning to fill her cold clammy hands. This raised awareness brought more pain, both their passionate moans were now clear and gut wrenching. Red was saying things that Senya never did, allowing acts to be performed on her she never could, and he was euphoric. He forced himself inside her repeatedly as he held her petite body up off him, the sound of it was undoing Senya’s sanity. His passion turned to aggression, aggression turned to violence, and Red loved it – encouraging it as her body and hair bounced like a rag doll. They both screamed in pleasure as if they knew she was watching, her soul dying as they performed for the demons below.

Senya started to cry, how could Joe do this to her…? He said that she was just a friend, that there was nothing to worry about. Last week, even claiming she was acting like a jealous bitch, and it was unattractive. The last tear of sadness fell from her face, it landed on the cold kitchen blade in her hand. As it cooled on the stainless steel, so did her temperament.

The words “Death to Red, and all her friends” gently escaped from her mouth. They were the last words Senya ever said. A warm vapor dammed to the underworld – like her soul.

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2019. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A bit of introspection on the train home…

My character & the coin

I had a relationship with patience.

She would calm me with a pause before my lips.

When hunger emptied my core, she’d fill it with a soft aroma.

Any doubts that lay with me, she could cast away with one question.

But i never loved her.

My head was turned – i saw a beauty that promised to fulfil my every desire.

We would sweat our bodies sore caressing spherical wants. She made me a better player than i was.

Wrapped up warm in front of a fire we poured every fantasy into pages that turned over quietly – perpetually, like her, like me. She made me a better writer than i was.

She was the opposite of patience, a constant need for the now. However, i couldn’t have known one without the other.

My greatest weakness, becomes my greatest strength – two sides, same character, same coin.

By Alpha Cauwenbergh

Haiku No. 19 – How much time do you spend searching for intangible truths?

🌀Haiku 19 – The Intangible

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How much time do we spend searching for the intangible truths? What is it that will actually bring you peace?

Depression & Choice

🌀Haiku 18 – Despair, Choice.

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The complicated way free will is threaded between hope, depression, life and death.

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Do we really choose anything?

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#haikus #poemsoninstagram #haikusfordays #poetry #haiku #mentalheath #instapoetry #haikuporn #lifechoices #haikugram

My latest short story for you guys & gals! Love, Violence & Strength in 500 words.

Mother & Shield

A beauty crying uncontrollable tears, it’s a pain you can feel through the cracked and worn door. Take your focus to another closed off room, and some monotone repetition of desperate spells will be heard behind it. This hallway is one of millions that infest the structures of the strong and powerful vessels of the age. These elegantly designed vessels foster life, bring warmth to winter’s kisses, and invite cool mountain air to breath when our nearest sun is harsh with its rays. No matter the placement or poise, the sound of rain can still echo the endless hallways, sometimes wearing at the foundations like the blunt tools of the early patriarch. Despite the flaws beneath, it can withstand, for those that withstood. They remain this way because there are locked rooms inside all women.

I try to open my eyes; it hurts, the left one refuses completely and continues to swell. The floor is cold and I think I’m bleeding. The storm outside can’t drown out the sound of Justin screaming. He’s reaching for me, crawling quickly like he used to before the illness. His desperation eats away at the red paint on my fragile heart; it makes me weak and pale. My instincts tell me to grasp for my child, but I need that monster’s attention focused this way. ‘Don’t worry my little J., mummy will be fine’, I mouth to him as I struggle to my feet. My legs tremble – ravaged by the adrenaline. This kitchen used to feel bigger; at least it was when we bought it the summer your mum passed away. In fact, you said that very thing to me that day, whispering in my ear so the estate agent wouldn’t notice. Now, I only feel the lack of escape. The one in front of me, dead eyed and lost to empathy, is not the man you introduced me to Jenny. He’s twisted, deformed from love into the shape of hate.

Yesterday.

-“Who’s texting you at this time of night?” he said, meandering into the kitchen groggy. Even from a couple of feet away, I could smell the rust of whiskey on his breath.

-“My boss, he saying there’s an emergency at the office, one of the interns has deleted a bunch of presentations due for tomorrow.” My reply was natural to the point of naiveté.

-“What does he need you for? There are plenty of other male I.T people he can call.” A kiss of his slightly stained teeth closed the sentence.

-“It’s my job.” I responded with the fatigue of a hundred song and dances. He turned his head to me from his perch on the kitchen stool and said.

-“To fuck him?” Those words, said with a dry threat were a warning and challenge.

Now.

Trapped in between one hazard and the next, my arms are raised half-mast in worn out fear. Blind to my white flag, he comes again.

Close your eyes and lock the door.

 

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2018. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.