New Hues (Sonnet)

Okay so the homework for my creative writing AS level was to write a sonnet. Hmm. Easy? No. Google the details of a sonnet if you don't believe me. But just to warn you, I do know that this doesn't exactly work as a sonnet; I am aware that some of the stresses are muddled. But it was my first attempt at a sonnet so here it goes...



We're lost in no identity parades,
deep wounds of little consequence, pistols
slumber under billows, day no erodes.
Clean and sew your wounds out - clear flesh crystals.
Yet she has broiling, coiling thought of who
she is, minute beetles under her moans
to knit each word, caress the dark: sooth, help,
sleep, no. Blue fists upon her brittle bones.
Fists, MINE, did burrow at the cheeks, her whites
blood-shot and leaking where the sun should rest.

At six we flew kites, dancing as fresh sprites;
the breeze stole gust, myriad dust abreast.
But at eight I saw the need in me to
sock these sprites out from her eyes, no clue!

Mushrooms (Object Stimulus)

Louche pearls beading above the
blades, clinging to the
tiny
minarets above the grass.
Such myriads of bejeweled ghosts
reflected in their curving caps,
do beetles rest their weary shells upon these
turrets? Or metallic moths mope below the shade?

Twilight trickles in

and their trunks recede,
dissolving into umbrous
pools; disease running rife.
       His fingers upon my cheek,
pressure marks.
Grass tangled masses in my hair.
A disheveled foliage upon my scalp:
"You asked me to"
bitter pellets of malice on the tongue
as he leaves me in the undergrowth
with the despondent

corpses beside me.

Acrylics And Warmth

Acrylic. That’s what the sky was. Acrylic. The clouds danced in and out of one another in rivulets of thick sunset tones. He imagined what the clouds would taste like at this moment. Marshmallows. Fruit salad. As he inhaled gradually, savouring the aroma of the forest, he felt the caress of pine scents and damp soil. It felt of nature.

He was tugged violently from his vivid ponderings as the girl said something. It was muffled, indistinct; he could hear it no more than he could be bothered to try to. As she tried desperately to tear the gag with her words, he looked down upon her. God-like. He was God, God to her at this moment anyway. He had the power over her breathing, her blood flow. Everything was his. He delicately brushed away pieces of bark stuck to her cheek, grazing her warm flesh with the tip of his finger; leisurely tracing a line down to the screaming pulse in her neck. In the years to come of his life, people would wonder how rapidly his composure snapped and morphed into pure, sharp malice. Only she, Lia, would have been able to tell you that it was like the attack of a snake. Quick, unexplainable, vicious. That calm trailing of her neck mutated into two fierce hands gripping her throat, his muscular thighs straddling her torso; claiming complete authority over her final seconds. He felt his chest rise and fall as hers slowed and her face reddened. Her last specks of life blew from her chapped lips and he felt something he had never experienced, a penetrating and searing feeling. Something with no word, no emotion to pin it to. It was just a warmth.

That was the first time he killed.