Tag Archives: dark fantasy



This one was almost too random to share (I have a lot of poems tucked away that are too random to share) but I kind of liked it so, brace yourself, because here it is. It’s got the rhythm of a slam poem.



There are
In reality
Starting to fall through the
In reality
And I can feel the changes coming
This wonderland
Hasn’t got wonder
Just sand
There are monsters here
Things looking queer
An animal drinking a beer
An over involved
Barrister hamster
Marry me sir
I have to see
What this land can do to me
I want to live
Of this headfuck
We can do it together
Together you can pull me
From this
Alternate reality
Life isn’t supposed to be
A sleeper city
With sleeper people
We need release
We need to be free
Sees us
But he won’t believe in us
When we ask him to help
He cries a single tear
And walks away
This hurts me more than it hurts you, he says
And we bleed
We bleed bleed bleed
We planted a seed
And it’s come to fruition
It’s perdition
Karmic condition
This is our reality now
We contrived it
Now we have to
Survive it.














The Turning: A Masterpiece by the Great Sarah Silvey


Hey kids! Shameless promo here: my book doesn’t suck.

Dark fantasy. It’s got monsters, blood n guts, good friends, terrible enemies, swordfights, adventure, psychic powers. You know you’re curious. You like my writing, right? So why wouldn’t you like the book? It’s lots of fun, with just the right amount of fucked-up. I’ve had a smattering of reviews so far, all positive.

On Amazon:

On Smashwords:

On Itunes… here? Not sure because I have a PC, but you can at least use this as a starting point:

On Barnes and Noble:

I am insanely grateful to anyone who buys it. If you leave a review (preferably a kind one) I will have big puppy eyes for you. And if you leave an unkind review, I will go walleyed and wander off a cliff. Just kidding. I’m already walleyed just from bringing attention to myself. < _ >

I’m getting impatient with work again. It’s driving me to further myself creatively. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to just stay home and write all day, every day…

Maximum love and minimum crazy,














The Siren


I am a sandy beach.
I am wetwater.
I am alive alive alive
And I don’t care who knows it.
I am flaming red hair and toothy grins and purring cats and silliness
I am a wonderful thing, a thing of veins and blood and bones and wild energy
I am eternal, agnostic, atheistic, apotheostic
Knuckling to the floor
Launching myself at the TV screen
An animal
Just an animal

I sing
High clear notes that pierce
Straight to the heart
Any listener might be deceived
Might think me a tremendous soul
Drawn in by my siren song
Silly fools
Cold crayfish and starfish and seahorses
Canned potatoes and processed cheese
Are not enough to feed a siren.
I need someone with meat and red living flesh
I need something that kicks.
I need you.
I can taste your skin
Sweet salt sweat
I can taste your fear
Like stainless steel
I can taste your groan
It ripples down my throat.
I Iive for this,
Your exquisite death.















A Quick Death

This is the only thing I wrote this weekend. Add it to the list of things I didn’t want to post. I don’t know why!



“I don’t want to,” he said.

“Do it,” she said. “You’ve got to get over your fears.”

He was trembling.

“Cast it at that woman over there.”

“But she hasn’t–”

“Do it! Prove you’re a man.”

The woman was reading a book in an isolated section of the great library. She was well dressed, wore glasses, had her hair pinned back in a clean bun. She had gotten caught up in a book and was standing up reading it. She looked nice.

The boy pointed his finger lamely in her direction. A gust of wind blew past her and she leaned into it, unconsciously enjoying the breeze.

Teacher glared down at him. “I am disappointed in you,” she said. “Now you’re going to have to watch her receive a worse death at my hands. This is your punishment.”

“Oh, please no,” the boy said.

She opened a chasm beneath the woman’s feet, and the woman dropped. She was too surprised to even scream. Nobody saw it happen. The chasm closed up just as quickly as it had appeared. Had she broken a leg in the drop?

“Come on,” his teacher said. “We’ve got work to do down there.”

Her own warm hand took his, gently. They phased to the dungeon at the bottom of the chasm.

“I’ll give you one more chance to try it yourself,” she said.

The girl was panting, sitting up on the floor in an uneventful position, one leg drawn up toward herself. She couldn’t see in the dark, but she could hear voices. She had been hurt in the drop after all, though the boy couldn’t tell where.

He had to do it. He had to be quick and merciful. Or else Teacher… who knows what she would do to the girl to prove her point and punish him.

A quick, merciful death. He took a deep breath. Sharp and quick, like a band aid. He moved his whole hand in a crisp motion, with assurance.

The girl’s head detached cleanly. It fell to her side. The body fell forward onto her knees and remained propped upright.

“Good,” Teacher said. “This is what it means to be a Reaper. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, tears in his eyes.

“You gave her a good death,” Teacher said. “You’ve got to be proud. This is the best we can do for them.”