cirque de la nuit

The inky journey of a modern day Troubador

Monsters Hide

You aren’t a monster

its too tight in here
and you can’t…

You look at their
desolate eyes
and listen to the
mechanical whirring
of dull

It’s too bright in here
light bounces off the pellucid
water and it seems that
the entire world is…

You know too well
the overwhelming taste
of pain.
The kind only misfits
can taste from their
renegade shelters.

It’s too hot in here
the air smothers you
like a balmy blanket
and you skin starts to…

You aren’t a monster
but you are
seeking relief
and sharpening your claws
because perhaps

if you teach others
you can finally be…

The Ward

“Which one is yours?”
The grey haired woman was wearing an Armani suit, with navy blue pinstripes.
She had sunglasses on masking her eyes and the thin lines that crinkled next to them.

The younger man brushed a brown curl off his forehead and pointed vaguely across the street to the cafe. “The blonde haired one. short. pixie cut.”

The woman smoothed a wrinkle from her pant leg, “do they still call it a pixie cut? I’m not sure?”

“Don’t care” the man sighed and looked back down at the newspaper in his lap.

The woman smiled, “I’m Grace. The lovely one in the pink dress who just arrived is mine.”

The man looked up briefly, “She is lovely.”

Grace’s smile widened, “So is yours.”

“Not really.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Grace cautiously interrupted, “You know this is a big moment for them right? We are changing their outlook on life….it changes everything.”
She looked at the table of young women happily chatting away. “They are so young and free, they deserve a second chance.”

“Debatable…” Eoin put down his newspaper. “Youth is not a desirable trait to anyone but the old. And it certainly isn’t a marker for one who deserves good things. Neither is beauty.”

Grace shushed him, “It’s almost time. Don’t distract me.”

Moments later a larger refrigerated truck lost control a few blocks away. It swerved and swayed as the terrified driver tried to avoid hitting cars on the roadway. The truck hopped the curb and careened down the sidewalk towards the table of women, all frozen in fear.

Eoin watched as Grace flew across the street and swept pink dress up in her arms, tossing her lightly and safely into some bushes out of the trucks path.

He slowly unfurled his legs, stretched, then dashed across the street just in time to pull pixie hair and her companion into the street and out of the way. The truck crashed through the cafe patio and into the brick wall of the cafe store front, causing an explosion of bricks and mortar before it came to a stop.

Grace rejoined Eoin on their bench away from the fray. “Why did you wait so long? And why did you put them in the street, that’s hardly a safe spot?!” Her pink dressed woman was struggling to extract herself from the prickled branches of the bush she sat in while pixie hair lay in the middle of the street surrounded by rubble. Her friend knelt next to her cajoling, “You’re fine, just sit up….we are okay. Look at you, all flushed….you are glowing!”

Eoin shrugged, “she’s okay. A little dramatic, so no doubt she’ll still be taken away in an ambulance.”

Grace shook her head incredulously, “In all my years I’ve never seen one so cavalier.”

Eoin picked up his newspaper, “I have to get to the hospital and check things out, she’s prone to infection.”

As he walked away, Grace shouted, “What is wrong with you?!”

Without turning around he replied, “Guardian angel or not, my ward is a pain in the ass.”


He held a lantern close to my face
“Why are you crying?”

I picked myself up and brushed the sand from my open wounds

“No, I’m okay”

I was always raised to be okay.


The next time he knocked me down, I saw it happen

He looked in my eyez

“Why did you fall? You knew what was happening”

I questioned myself, my expectations and set him free to fly with black wings.

“I am okay”

The blood on my soul and bruises on my conscience were of his making, and he asked,

“Why did you let me?”

Then like the Phoenix, I rose.

Rose from the ashes he burnt me in.
Rose from the mud he buried me under.
Rose from the costume he cloaked me in.

“What are you?” He asks with disdain.

“You made me.” I stretch my exuberance of every color.

Men cannot kill nor tame any wild thing. Though they tear the world apart to try.

I broke

I broke overnight.

There was a moment of relief
followed swiftly by disbelief

and then I fell to pieces.

the shards of my heart
were gnarled and sharp

I cut myself on the bloody parts.

I sank in a pool of agony
befuddled at the plangency

of the sound of my soul being crushed.


Thanks so much to MJ Cobra for nominating me for the SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD!

I feel this award is less about honor and more about community. Engaging with each other and growing our writing, so I’m extremely happy to be able to participate!

The Rules:

Show the award on your blog.
Thank the person who nominated you.
Answer the given questions.
Nominate a blog(s) and give them questions to answer.
Link your nominee(s) and let them know of your nomination.

The Questions:
What’s number 1 on your bucket list?
What’s one of your guilty pleasures?
How do you envision your handwriting if it were a person? Would you be friends?
If you could bring someone back from the dead, who would you choose?
What is your kryptonite?
If you owned a restaurant, what would be the best selling dish?
What is your favorite part about blogging?
Do you have a crush on any fictional characters?
What is the best writing advice you’ve ever received or heard?
Which of your blog posts is your favorite?

My Answers:

1.) What is number 1 on my bucket list?
To write a song.

2.)What is one of my guilty pleasures?
Cheese. I can eat cheese all day long. And i eat it straight out of the bag…the shredded kind you buy for tacos? Yes, that. I eat that out of the bag.

3.) How would you envision your handwriting as a person? Would you be friends?
My handwriting would be a mess. Pen ink on his fingertips, dirt under his fingernails. He might have spaghetti sauce stained on his shirt, and drying splotches of spilled tea on his pants. He would be rambunctious and boisterous. He would be a little too much for me to handle, we might be acquaintances, and frequent the same pubs, but I would not be his constant companion. He would be to unpredictable for me.

4.) If I could bring someone back from the dead, who would I choose?
Wouldn’t do it. I’ve read enough books with that premise to know how horribly things would go wrong…no matter how much I might want to see them again.

5.)What is my kryptonite?
My wandering soul. No matter where I am I wonder what it could be like else where. I can never fall into a place of contentment for more than a year. The stars pull my hair and the wind pushes my soul. I always wonder if I’ll ever have a real home.

6.)If I owned a restaurant, what would be the best selling dish?
The mushroom stroganoff, or the rabbit stew with dumplings.

7.)What is my favorite part about blogging?
The feeling of getting all the writing I hold inside my heart and mind, out and releasing it to the world. It is like a weight off my body when I put words to the (computer screen) page.

8.) Do I have a crush on any fictional characters?
Holden Caulfield was my first book crush, and Phineas (Finny) from “A Seperate Peace.” I took his death so hard, it took a couple days for me to start reading again. And lastly- Grigory Alexandrovich Pechorin “A Hero of our Time”

9.) What is the best writing advice I’ve ever received or heard?
Break the rules.

10.) Which of my blog posts is my favorite?
Probably Time to Travel. I have always been an avid reader, but usually have read books that not many people have. I love sharing what I’ve read. The worlds you can find in the pages of books are endless and timeless, and I wish I could give everyone a piece of every world/time I’ve visited within them!

The Bloggers I award:


Hot White Snow

Man vs Loneliness


My Questions for them:

1.) What was your worst nightmare?

2.) Describe the most inspiring piece of artwork you have encountered?

3.) What is your morning routine?

4.) How close are you to the person you aspire to be? What is hindering you?

5.) Describe what pain feels like to you.

6.) What do you think deja vu is for?

7.) What was the last great book you read?

8.) You become a world leader, what societal problem would you first tackle.

9.) Use one adjective and one color to describe your current mood

10.) Where does your mind wander when you hear “that song”? (the song that you love/takes you back/gets you too that place..)



Actually everyone who reads this, you are welcome to answer…i just love reading people’s thoughts!



The full wolf moon
woke me up at
4 am.
shining a beam of perfect
reflected light
across my eyelids

it struck me like a camera flash
and I opened my eyes
to be blinded by
the moon radiance.

J stirred in his slumber
and draped a pillow over his face
choosing death by smothering
over death by insomnia
(exacerbated by my
Lune d’amour)

I stared at its blurry visage
through the cracks in my
shuttered blinds
for only a moment

As a small child,
I wanted to visit the moon
and slice of a little piece
of mooncake to eat
in solitude

because they say the moon sees
all your sins.
I wish I had believed them
then I wouldn’t have tried
to hide mine in nighttime

But seeing the moon peering through my
that night.
I knew
there is no such thing as

The beauty of mystery

It’s okay to not proclaim in writing
and shout atop your
sustainable soapbox

How and who you are

it is incredibly okay
to be who you are
without defining
who you are
for the eyes and ears
around you

Not everything has to be said out loud
and not every story needs to be written

the loss of mystery
is the failure of the individual

every silky scar on your body
has its own narrative

but sometimes
that story is just

Invisible Scars

How I wish
you could see through
my own muddy brown eyes.

Taking in the stark (partially blurry)
world through the filter of my
intrigue and amazement

You could see then
the beauty I find in your
delicate insecurities
that you hide with sarcastic
backlash and caustic jokes
at others expense

You’d know that I have x-ray vision
even better than the super man
because I see how truly uncomfortable
you feel when the room around you
spins out of your control

Your nervous chuckle is absolutely stunning
and the way your eyes prickle with tears just
before you let out a sniffle is dazzling

My eyes can see the breath-taking moment
that you get angry and are about to pounce
like a lioness
the tensity in your jaw, and the furl of
your brow before the strike.

Within your discomfort and fidgety energy
I can see the grace.
In each twitch of your bouncing leg
and the curious way your eyes roam the room
bouncing from subject to subject
like electrons across your brain.

You are so full of those instants
and they pass, quickly forgotten
or discarded in a pile of unmentionables
The face the world sees is the facade you prefer

but just for a moment, look
through my eyes
and see the
wonderful human
with invisible scars
flashing magnificently
through the banality of reality.

*To exist is to dare to throw oneself into the world*
-de Beauvoir

Rolling Thunder

“Holy water cannot help you now
See I’ve had to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I’m gonna raise the stakes, I’m gonna smoke you out”

*Seven Devils lyrics by Florence and the Machine

I can feel the tension in the way the air tightens
even among friends

I can sense it when, unprovoked, I hear
“I just can’t talk about it”

The grief borders on despair now
and the fate of us all hangs
in the balance.

People love a war,
when its fought on foreign lands
over starry ideals
and the concept of manifest destiny.

They don’t like war,
when you take it to their homes
and fight with weapons of your mind.

when you push and prod them
to sharpen their mental swords,
and prepare to spar.

People can’t understand a war
being fought over nothing.
It’s almost nothing
but it’s the right to have the
rights you were born with.

It’s everything.
And if the crowns must crack?
They will.

Love, part deux

If you can’t map the scars on my skin

And create a masterpiece.

If you don’t hear a Symphony,

With crashing symbols,

When my heart breaks

Then you have icicles in your veins

And my love cannot be yours.


The hacking
Death rattle of regression
Is incredibly loud

It feels the slight prickle
Of hairs
On the back of
Its goose pimpled neck

And senses the cold
Touch of curved steel

The reapers blade

It must have its last
Sickly grasp
of the scepter,
Bending neck
With fear and blame

Even the beasts of the field
Sense their own demise.

Have your last cackling
We crack the crown

And take what’s always
been ours


They hold me so carefully
and caress me tender

they salve my wounds
with delicate touches
and stay with me
through the black

they stay in the corners
of my mind and awaken
the otherworldly
dozing passively

They set ablaze apprehension
and embolden me to
boundless, unbridled passion within

If you need to love me,

Love me like my demons do

Blog at

Up ↑

Scribbled Dreams

Making mistakes, learning things, chasing dreams.

T h e C o o k b o o k L i f e

||“This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook- try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun!” ― Julia Child ||


The things I want to tell myself

Half Girl Half Teacup

A humble life of women and tea

unbolt me

the literary asylum