Discarded; damaged goods.
The lone whore bore foul, tainted, bastard fruit.
Shunned while still stunned from her whalers desertion.
Black lamb of the snow-white flock.
Abandoned for the call of the sea; another she.
Betty bid to follow suit with that ill seeded fruit.
As waves began to pour down her choking throat; peace called in tortured unforgiving song.
The final forbidden promise.
Lungs of fire burning; as blackened shadow blotted the sun.
A selfish rescue placed her back in hell; pulled from the mother’s largest well.
Need the ruined to give rest their good grace; a blinding disgrace.
© Natasha Sinclair. 2019.
Extract from ‘Shadows in the Garden’ by G G Flavell as featured in ‘Concoction’
Out now on eBook and Paperback from Amazon worldwide.
“I wouldn’t piss on one if he was on fire.”
She hissed with such venom on each syllable.
That hate was imbedded deep; Men, what was the issue?
Those women married them, bore children to them, birthed
them, raised them…
Copulators and mothers of abusive bastards.
Of course, it was her fault. It always was, that doomed double XX.
Such hate being passed through generations.
The kind of hate that rose your heart rate, made your bones
grind, made you sweat.
Venomous and bitter more than mere words; the flames licked the air in forked tongue.
Man’s kiss; woman’s curse.
(C) Natasha Sinclair, all rights reserved