

| Camouflage By Audra K. Heuson In the back of a crowded room She sulks alone. She wears a perfect smile, but with false bliss on her tongue. While faking confidence, She wanders. Secretly wishing she wasn't one of the dead. Every man notices her, But do they truly see her? She may as well be camouflage; Or yet another doormat. She releases her pain through suffering, All the while, tricking herself into believing that it is them she is using. Intoxicating her brain, While cutting herself--Short. The agony never failing to return. The scars on her wrists telling tales of sorrow, She prays someone takes notice. They see an enchanted stranger. They adore the vibrant maiden. If they only knew--the truth-- No one wants to see a soul in turmoil. Everything must be simple and cheery! When at any time one notices this dark side of her--They look away. Run away. Be away. Far from the truth that is her. The only REAL men that could every truly know her-- SEEN her. Left her. Alone-- in the back of a crowded room |
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| His Father's Son, by Brandi Michelle Bourgon He is only his father’s son. He fought the man, but the anger won. His is such a dismal fate, to be so consumed by hate. And so the cycle spirals on... He was just a boy raised on GI-Joe’s Wore camouflage, played army in the garage Carried guns and bombs and fighter planes From the start, it seems, a battle raged within his heart. Play fights and violent games were the order of the day But when he got pushed too far, he listened to his father say, “Punch them in the nose. Never let them get their way.” You see, from the start, a battle raged in his father’s heart. He is only his father’s son. He fought the man, but the anger won. His is such a tragic fate to be consumed by so much hate. And so the cycle spirals on... Now he’s grown. Now he’s a man. But his father still can’t understand why the boy that he raised, spends most of his days wearing camouflage, firing guns, defending the war, it must be won. Across the sea in foreign parts, they try to settle a battle forged in so many men’s hearts. He is only his father’s son He fought the man, but the anger won. It is such a lonely fate to be all consumed by hate And so the cycle spirals on... The Kiss The sands of time were scattered to the winds by the heaviness of our breath that night... Simple wonders replaced webs of ancient and intricate design... This transference occurred beautifully within the precipitation... Precipitation birthed from fire fierce and fire slow... Embers burning quiet and still... Many admissions were made in the eyes of lovers... through the intensity of coming together... through the tenderness held in each other’s hands... throughout that kiss, passion was wise and clear... Many admissions were made that night... although mostly in silence. |
| Author Spotlight: Paranormalist Alexandra Holzer |
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