When?

When your fears turns to tears, and dreams crumble into decaying debris.

When salvation becomes the barrel of a loaded gun and you drink your poison to numb the pain.

When every fibre of you soul is manipulated like a marionette’s strings, pushed and pulled beyond you will.

When a heart doesn’t break, but it cracks and shatters into millions of pieces lifting into the night sky to join the stars.

When the words have been spoken and all feelings gone.

That is when it’s the end.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Being a Lighthouse

My son asked me ‘if you could describe yourself as an object, what would it be?’

Probably, a lighthouse on the end of a cliff. You see the ocean is like life. Sometimes it’s calm and tranquil, other times a little choppy and rough. Other times the waves are so strong and tall they threaten to consume me. Yet here I stand, defiant in spite of the storms shining my light on whoever so wishes to seek it.

I think most of the analogy was lost on the poor lad, but in time I hope he too will learn to stand defiant through the storms of life and I pray he does a better job at it than I do.

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Getting back into things

I wanted to write a little piece, just to see if anything would form in this supposed creative mind of mine, see if I was still able to make words flow and ebb like calm gentle waters over the minds of those reading.

I call this ‘Drifting into Seperation’

Two ships under a crescent moon, slowly parting upon opposing tides. Communications languish, until eventually all connections are terminally disconnected. Relationship ebbing away, like water through open fingers. Tears become now your passengers, and all your smiles have abandoned ship.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Relationship Ideals

The front door opened where a tired an weary female came in from the cold outside. She was greeted with a cozy blanket that had been warming on the radiator, put there for her arrival. It was being held by the smiling face of her husband.

Wrapping it around her, he led her to the sofa where he began removing her shoes so as to rub her aching feet. The room was full of the scent of an evening meal, almost ready, cooking in the oven. A glass of wine already poured, waiting on the table and the sound of running water for the bath he’d readied for her return.

These are the things I believe a partner wants from a relationship, not coming home to x-box and the prospect of then having to choose and cook tea. I might be wrong.

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Worry

Every second of every minute, that makes up the hours of my day are spent in worry and fear for the safety and well being of my children, my family and my future wife. I worry if they’re happy, do they have enough to grow and flourish. As a son, I worry about my elders. As a parent I worry about my children and those of my partner. As a future husband I worry about whether I can offer the kind of life my sweetheart so richly deserves. And of course I’ve been blessed with being introduced to grandchildren, so it’s my duty to worry about them too.

It’s all too easy to gift the younger generations all the things you yourself missed out on growing up, toys video games and designer clothes. But one thing my parents always taught me, more valuable than any material possession, was to create memories. Toys break, video games grow old and clothes fade. Memories are the things you take to the grave.

So yes I worry. I think I earned the right to worry. So much of last year and the beginning of this have been lost, and yet I’ll always remember April 2020 as the date I found love, was welcomed into a new family and a new reason to make memories. July 2021 I become the dad of an 18 year old. Dates keep coming, and become more important and significant with each one. Not one though, makes me worry any less.

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Writing Challenge

Story Challenge: Word and Genre suggested by Laura ~ neon hotpants / crime thriller.

“Talk to me Sargent. What have we got?”

The middle aged policeman cleared his throat before addressing the suit clad inspector. Whereas the Sargent was time served and had progressed through the force via hard work and pounding the streets, the inspector was fresh faced and straight from behind some desk at the academy. There was still a mutual respect for their respective rank.

“Another from the homeless community. Male, around thirty year old.”

“That’s the fifth in as many days! Cause of death?”

“Strangulation, the same as the others.”

The inspector nodded as though he’d been expecting the answer and began pacing around as if searching for answers to the questions in his head. “I assume there were no witnesses as before also.”

“Actually,” began the Sargent. “We have a description.”

It was the first time the attack had been seen, or at least the first time anyone had come forward with information. Whilst previous murders had similar characteristics, there had been no viable leads with which to investigate.

“Average build and height, wearing a black hooded and neon hotpants.”

The description had the inspector kicking the ground in frustration.

“Look around you. What do you see? We’re smack bang in the middle of festival season and nearly everyone is wearing neon clothing of some fashion.”

The Sargent remained silent.

“Let us hope the body parts with more helpful clues than your witness.”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Finding Reason

‘Understanding’

To my left stands an Angel tending to my tears. “What did you do?” she asks soothingly.

On my right a Devil. “It’s not your fault!” he says rubbing my shoulder with his talloned hand.

Like an island isolated by a maddening sea, I stand resolute understanding their words, yet let them fall upon my ear, waves upon a rocky shore.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Brave the Shave 2019

This me. A hairy tattooed lover of heavy metal.

This time last year my mother passed away after a brief battle with cancer. In her honour, and to raise money for the Mcmillan Nurses who eased her pains during her stay in hospital, I have decided to undertake the Brave the Shave 2019.

The long hair and beard will all go, and be donated to a charity that makes wigs for cancer survivors.

My hair loss will be temporary. The loss of my mother permanent. If you can, and only if you can, spare a little loose change to make a donation, it is all going to such a deserving cause.

https://bravetheshave.macmillan.org.uk/shavers/chris-brown2

Thank you for just reading.

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Punishment NSFW +18

Laid over my knee

Naked once soft white skin

Now red with handprint scars

Punishment for brattish behaviour

Tears cascading from pain felt eyes

Playing my emotions?

Large hands easing the pain

Firm powerful strokes across each cheek

A gentle writhing to guide my hand

Urging to be felt in places pleasuring

My hand falls heavy again

The imprint left in white

Upon her once again reddening skin.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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