Tags: fayde, love, poem, poetry, spilled ink, terry mcghee
Tags: poem, poetry, spilled ink, terry mcghee, time knows not
My heart like a lock still waits to be
Rusted through and broken open
It’s been years now since I’ve seen your smile
Forever since I’ve heard your laughter
Yet here I sit
Waiting for a miracle
Wishing you weren’t still and always
The perfect fit
The only key
And the last wish
From my whispered lips
Each night before I dream
Tags: alone, family, gone, loss, love, poem, poetry, spilled ink, terry mcghee
That’s nice of you to say
But I lost a whole family
In a single sunny day
Nothing left to tether
No purpose left to portray
I lost more than a mother
The day she passed away
Tags: bar, cia, drunk, fiction, funny, short story, spilled ink, Stories, story, terry mcghee
I sat on a crooked bar stool, staring at an angel in the mirror behind the bar, and drooling over the thought of her walking by. Just close enough to catch a whiff of her shampoo, or maybe it would be her mom’s conditioner, I didn’t care. I don’t like to objectify women, but man, this girl had everything you could ever hope for. Legs, an ass, I mean everything!
I dropped my eyes to my beer in a moment of weakened confidence, well ok, so I did it to not get caught staring. I don’t wanna be labeled a pervert like that or anything, you know?
Anyhow, I didn’t hear an organ strike up as she stood, and I damn sure didn’t see the shifting light source in the bar as her halo lifted when she walked, but I’ve been telling George for years to get rid of the fucking Christmas lights in the bar. It dulls our defensive senses. That dumbass never listens though, and he wonders why there are so many glory holes in the bathroom stalls.
When she slid onto the barstool next to me, I damn near snapped my spine as I tried to straighten up and not look as pathetic as I was. She smiled shyly at me, so I mumbled, “Hey” as I wiped the sweat from my forehead and slicked back my hair with one hand. I’m a sly mother fucker that way.
“What do you do?” She asked.
“Me? I like to juggle 50 lbs. shake weights.” Well, I was gonna say it, but I may have just giggle farted awkwardly and shrugged, hoping she didn’t hear it.
“For work, I mean.” She clarified.
I casually motioned towards George by desperately flailing my arm in his direction. He poured a cheap shot glass full of some kind of courage and sat it in front of me.
I tossed it back like a pro, not even grimacing that much as I turned the 12 degrees or so that my barstool would allow and smiled, “I’m between jobs right now.”
“Oh, what did you do before?”
“I had a summer internship at the CIA,” I answered.
“Oh wow, what did you do there?” Her painted on eyebrows almost seemed to lift a little out of genuine curiosity.
I felt the muscles in my chest realign themselves into something bordering on impressive when her body language suggested she might be interested, or a prostitute. I didn’t really care which.
I struggled to look sober as I said, “I don’t actually know.”
“Oh, so it’s like classified?”
“No, no, I really don’t know. They paid me to go down to Mexico a couple of times and eat ice cream.”
Her interest dropped like the dentures of a bar fly in a bathroom stall occupied by a rock star.
“I may have killed a man though, I mean it is the CIA, nothing is as it seems.” I tried to gain back her interest.
“I always wondered, what does CIA stand for?”
I spun back around to face the bar as I held up a confident hand towards George and replied, “That’s classified.”
Tags: dark, light, live, night, poem, poetry, prose, spilled ink, struggle, suicide, terry mcghee, thief of dreams, twilight
Some live in the dark
Where the mask can slip
Without a curious remark
Where a tear can silently drip
Without anyone questioning the pain
Where the anxious can hide
Waiting out the hurricane
Some live in the dark
Some live in the light
Spreading inspiration with a smile
Impervious to the snakebite
Of sorrow and exile
Some live in the light
We touch fingertips at twilight
Before we go our separate ways
I’ll look for you in the starlight
As I fight to live more days
Tags: Irrecoverable, poem, poetry, spilled ink, terry mcghee
I miss the courage and reassurance
That used to flow from your fingertips
As you wrapped me in revelation
The way your glance could enhance
My aspiration for salvation
Your eyes the entrance to my own expanse
Our unification a collaboration
Lost together in premonition
Tags: dead of night, short story, terry mcghee, thief of dreams
I sat alone in the dark, in an abandoned house I had crept into right after the last rays of sunlight had sank like teardrops from the skies. I huddled with my jacket, sitting on the floor with my back against a wall next to the window, waiting for the night to pass. Distant lightning would occasionally pulse through the closed blinds, making the shadows dance around me. I kept waiting for one to illuminate a demon, inches from my face, but it never did.
When I felt confident that no one or nothing saw me enter, and there were no other occupants, I slowly leaned forward to look out of a hole in the blinds. The night was pitch black, like the entrance to a coal mine. No electricity flowed any longer, and tonight even the moon was fearful of making an appearance. There was nothing but blackness on the other side of the glass, and it felt as if it was pushing to get inside.
A flicker of lightning flashed across the glass and startled me. I caught a quick glimpse of the houses across the street, the dead in the street, and a demon on the sidewalk. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and watched the fogged glass disappear as the lightning strike trailed off.
Was it looking at me? Could it somehow see in the dark? Was it making it’s way towards me in the blackness out there right now?
My pulse quickened as the hair on the back of my neck started to stand and I strained to see anything outside. I could imagine the next flash coming and being eye to eye with the demon, a pane of glass separating us, the hatred and hunger of it steaming up the glass right before it sank it’s talon like claws through the wood siding and grabbed me. I’ve seen them shred car doors like paper, so I knew there was no real place to hide once they saw you.
A new flash of lightning danced in the distance and I saw it then, unmoved from where it was before, but now it stood on it’s back legs, nose high in the air, as if searching for my scent.
As the darkness rushed back in to claim the night I lost sight of it and everything else once again. I waited for the next glimpse.
I didn’t have to wait long, as a series of lightning strikes lit up the sky. The demon dropped to all fours and strode into the street slowly, carefully. It was not headed towards me, so I rested a little easier, but I was still hypnotized by it. How gracefully they moved, even more perfect a predator than any cat I had ever seen on television or in a magazine. When you saw one it was like seeing a black widow spider, you didn’t see any real reason for it’s being other than to kill. It was almost beautiful if it hadn’t been so utterly terrifying.
I turned from the window and took a deep breath that quickly turned into a yawn of exhaustion. As I wiped the tears from my eyes and prepared to give in to sleep, another flash of lightning came. I caught my first real glimpse of the inside of the living room. I also saw the golden reflection of a demons eyes on the bottom steps of the stairs. The lightning couldn’t have lasted very long, but it was long enough that I watched the claws dig gouges in the wooden banister as it sprang from it’s perch. I lost sight of the eyes as the mouth opened to reveal jaws full of razor sharp teeth as they came rushing towards me. I wonder sometimes if I would have screamed if given enough time. I like to think not, but you never know. All I had time to do was react.
As I sit here now, I wonder if they know of me, if they talk of me in some demon tongue. I don’t know, but one thing is for sure, they aren’t the only monsters here anymore.