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ashlee workman

Somewhere between writing and drinking, ashlee workman has aged to a twenty-four year old woman who believes in Faeries and dreams of space. Originally born in Kentucky, a southern lady she is not, working like other americans in a semi-professional desk job. arworkman7@hotmail.com



A stick of red lipstick necromancy

In her pocket

On her lips

Smoothed on

Even shimmer under the moon

Evil eyes with a luscious smile

Creeping up on the night

Seeking out sapphires

Cool to the touch and chiseled with perfection

Sharp on the eyes

Not so sweet and vulnerable

Wanting to be stolen

A little pucker and a wiggle of the hips

Make the sapphires burn

Makes them crave lipstick


Famous Bad Habit

I fell off right into the bottle

Slipped off into my famous bad habit

Drowning after a hard plummet

The fall should've snapped my neck

I hit hard like spring rain driving out winter

Sinking to the bottom

Bubbles running for freedom from my mouth

The world looked overt with ogling eyes

Sheep herding at the bar

I struck the bottom

My body slightly bounced with limp enthusiasm

I didn't bother to fight

I opened my mouth and slowly breathed

Expressionless I lay

And nobody followed

The Exit

Diving through the hot water

The light becomes distant

Voices block my ears

Vibrating my ear drums

Reckless thoughts crashing into my brain

I can't fit my whole body in this crack

Walls are angry with pinball reality

I must be the ball


Ringing bells of people, as they shove me back and forth

The door is too far away

I'll never make it across this room

Vying for the exit

I need an arrow towards release

Fingers are pointing

There is a lot of ugly chatting

People are growing vexed beaks

They are birds


Slowly pecking at me

I use one eye to guide me

The other has disappeared

Or perhaps it has gotten lost inside my body

Light is halloed in every corner

Chameleons have it easy

I reach for the exit but smack backwards onto the couch

I have been planted like harvest

Lights out



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