Writer from Dublin, Ireland.
*All work here is owned by Dean F. Hardy*
The promise of rain trickled through the balcony door. It danced pleasantly between them. Pink and sweaty and naked. -Did'ya get there?
By Dean F. Hardy3 years ago in Fiction
I return to the place every now and then always petrified, bones ache and grind, telling me to run and on approach the smell
By Dean F. Hardy3 years ago in Poets
Dear reality, I've got the block again... can feel it pressing on me the way it does, like the walls have eyes that never sleep.
She is old but her looks have remained in a classy and dignified way. The space is lit by candlelight and the phospherescent glow
sometimes you just have to let it happen. watch it observe it let the music play let life and its irony move through the room
She is miles away in this tiny little bed I toss and turn stranded, in her web I reach out into the void where true love
i sit here in the quiet of the night and reminisce as a decade of my life comes to an end. a small death a small victory
let it linger let it soak don't be eager don't be a joke * you are an addict it's time to face it thoughts erratic they're all laced with
By Dean F. Hardy3 years ago in Filthy
Watching waiting wishing wistfully Wanting waning wondering wickedly Working warring waging woefully Worship warlords wrecking
I sit and face the window in a cheap coffee shop, one that smells of old fryer oil and dirty dishwater and the lights,
Once, there was nothing Then within the darkest dark Sprung Heaven and Hell
Blue sky, bittersweet time's arrow I can't defeat final sleep, beckons
