April 2013
1 post
PLEASE.
Ask me a questions, guys! It’s anonymous and I’m soooo bored!
ask.fm/nadineworley
October 2012
1 post
1 tag
Main blog is skating-onquicksand.tumblr.com, guys...
April 2012
1 post
5 tags
Happy to Blunder Through
by Nadine Worley Tentatively stepping into the forest of our conversation, I find myself walking along a trail of timid pauses. Awkward leaves of laughter fall, making it harder to see the destination ahead. But that’s just fine. I prefer these feral surroundings to the standard procedure of communication that is done in the sterile, trite conditions of commonplace exchange. We need not be...
March 2012
1 post
Utterance
by Nadine Worley
I will not answer the cry of the hawk As not to barge in on its lively conversation With the pine
February 2012
1 post
Oddly Ourselves
by Nadine Worley Our love grows like the veins in an unborn chicken, multiplying in layers of blue and red as it sits under a mother hen’s warm incubation. The words you whisper to me float brightly about in the stream of my thoughts, a rubber duck circling the drain of my day. Your hands on my hips are the Batman signal, bringing good to even the darkest night sky, never mind it being through...
January 2012
14 posts
Frolicking Fluid
by Nadine Worley The rain parachutes in Landing precariously on the roof Of our sodden homes It slides surreptitiously Down metal shingles Whose tin gleams have been dulled By the clouded canopy billowing In the sky Descending is a game Won only by infiltrating the crevasses In plaster, drywall, wooden fixtures When victorious The rain will celebrate its success With a jump from the ceiling...
Eye for an Eye
by Nadine Worley Twitch, twitch I flail and I twist Twitch, twitch I am not missed Twitch, twitch I feel your heart beating Twitch, twitch Now it beats in my fist A zombie’s revenge Is sweeter than most You don’t have a clue Though I don’t mean to boast As I stand there grinning Your insides ooze How do you think the phrase “Over my dead body” Came to be used?
Sickly
by Nadine Worley My fingertips rolled Over cracked beige paint chips Searching for the dull switch That would bring artificial light To my dawn Upon doing so The fluorescence Which regularly flooded my sink Was replaced by a dim glaze I gawked at the eyes That bore into mine Through the two way glass Lidless yellow lumps Drizzled a pallid flow of puss Onto sallow cheeks In response to the...
Shrivel Season
by Nadine Worley A copper colored leaf quakes, shivering in the midst of gray weather, smoldering skies and icicle strewn driveways. The chlorophyll in her stem has abandoned her, along with the warmth of summer days. She slowly begins to crumble. Without color’s cheery hand to grasp, the leaf allows crisp winds to surround her- lets Father Winter take his course. When the bones of dead...
Revitalized
by Nadine Worley
An abrupt wind without mass, you briefly flashed by my bed to speak to me in a language that I didn’t understand, but with words that held comfort nonetheless.
Short Story Intro
by Nadine Worley
Soaked through with the impotent drops that consisted of the forsaken precipitation otherwise known as rain, I stumbled along the splattered sidewalk, looking up at the heavens in utter hatred. The houses here looked like murder caves. Scratch that- murderous HOBO caves. I had never even seen this part of town before. Now I knew why. Looking back through the drizzling haze of...
Heartsick Sea
by Nadine Worley
Grief sails toward our hearts,
Frothing and bleak
Riding on waves of heartbreak,
Swarming with schools of misery
When it hits,
We will collapse
From immense, onset pain
This depression
Sea salt in a wound,
Surging agony all to be gained
This storm might seem harmless,
Majestic, as it’s been deemed
But its guise only harbors dire means
It’s going to drown us all,...
Have You Ever Thought
by Nadine Worley
She sat down at the quite mundane dinner table, and upon her mother saying grace, interjected,
“Have you ever thought that tongue would make the perfect snack? Yes, tongue- tongue, you see, could keep children quietly chewing until dinner was served.
Bulging stomach could make the perfect foie gras, just rich enough to have you wanting a salad.
The salad, of course, would be...
Cassius
by Nadine Worley
He is a fox
Trotting through the woodlands of Rome
Purposefully placing shiny red berries
On a path intended to lure birds down
From their honorable positions in the trees
With a sly lick of his lips
A sugary sweet sap seeps out of his snout
Covertly covering the forest in a fine sheen
Of deception
Too ignorant to soar away
When the chance arose
The birds are now...
Tingly Terror
by Nadine Worley
Spindly tendrils of poison appear
No one sees them wandering near
Through the waves it swims about
Suddenly, you hear a shout
A little girl comes running ashore
The stinging begins
And there’s blood galore
The jellyfish silently floats away
Deadly and squishy
Looking for prey
Recorded in Papyrus
by Nadine Worley
He was found along the delta, the river lapping against his ashen body- bobbing him to its pulse.
We knew not of him, but he was to be buried just the same.
Doused with the required preparation liquids, his skin glistened with palm wine and the Nile’s perspiration.
Yet the aura emanating from the embalming table remained dark, darker than the kohl stained eyelids of Cleopatra.
And...
Unintentionally Indifferent
by Nadine Worley
The melanocytes in my cheeks are stagnant, refusing to produce magenta, ruby, rose, or even the slightest hint of salmon.
Let them turn my face to wine, so my embarrassment can intoxicate you.
Let the transformed pigment in my cheeks show for me the pain, the love, the anger that even I am not willing to give away.
Let me sit here thinking something other than,
“I wish I could...
Inappropriate
by Nadine Worley
I have absolutely nothing appropriate to say. My perverted peek of amusement lifts its head, hearing the invitation to be let loose, but I do not set it free. I have been trained to treat it as venom, spewing out sparks of sin.
Foul words form on my tongue. They threaten to slur a string of profanities together, making my language explicit. My innocent thoughts have...
7 tags
Irrelevant to the Cadaver
by Nadine Worley
The depression in this room is so thick. It drips into the silence like that one drop of syrup that escapes through dark wooden cracks in a picnic table, left to rot after a summer brunch outside. But, speaking of rotting. Speaking of gravestones, fake flowers and sewn shut eyelids. Speaking of death, Mother Nature must have seen this one coming. Wind wraps around the...
