---

Day One

· see the Daily Poem slot! <URL:poems.html?nrs=745>
· an acrostic poem:

Lavish me with touches
open palms on pale, soft skin
vivify me with one look
eccentric, enigmatic, yet inherently mine
rain kisses upon me tonight

---

Day Two

· a vignette: Wallflower

---

Day Three

· updated my LJ: http://calann.livejournal.com/53187.html
· a haiku:

The moon stares at me
with pale knowing eyes that see
all I want to hide

---

Day Four

· a contest entry for WritersCo: http://www.writersco.com/135.Contest%20entries.FiveWordsApril07

---

Day Five

· a short story: http://feline-fics.livejournal.com/3846.html
· an acrostic haiku:

Shivering in fear
innocence ripped apart by
naught more than a word

---

Day Six

· a poem:

His musical talent?
Not much to speak of--
yet his passion
the way he moves,
touches with long, graceful fingers---

Yes, with no equal
he plays me, beautifully
like the finest instrument
my love, that
is his music that I sing

---

Day Seven

· an acrostic poem:

Softly, she whispers
on the dancefloor you must feel even with
no music, no beat to
guide your steps
Breaking silence
in a breathy, teasing voice
raising her head to sing to the skies
Dream, it's a dream

---

Day Eight

· a snippet from Agony's point of view:

I am running out of chances. In this day, this era, I am running out of time, out of second opportunities. There are no thoughts for cursed souls in the hearts of these people, apart from blind hatred. They fear me and my kin, and so they should - yet they do not understand the depth of this curse. What they do not see is that I, too, was once human. My heart had a beat, a rhythm, I breathed air, my skin was warm to the touch. I want to redeem myself in the eyes of men, yet all I seem to be capable of is their destruction. It pains me so...

Yet, their resentment is nothing when I am reminded of her betrayal. She robbed me of my last hope, but I still cannot hate her. Her name is still the first and last thing on my lips, her image waiting in the darkness behind my eyelids, she is my reason for being, my salvation, even if she brought me to ruin.

Maya, I am waiting for you.

---

Day Nine

· a random, angsty little snippet:

You're so cold, love. Oft times I wonder if you have a heart at all, or if it's really a machine, a soulless, artificial thing I have given my fondest affection to. If it's a metallic mouth I'm kissing, in the rare instances you let me, if there are wires under the sensual sway of hips. Even when you whisper, breathily, those sweet little nothings with your cocoa scented lips curving into the most tempting smile, you remain cold. Under the thin layer of emotion there is an icy desert that knows no rain nor sunshine, only a neverending greyness. You deny it, always, but I see even if you hide your face and stay silent in the onslaught of my hurt accusations. It is in your eyes, the seas that are always so calm and never deep enough to conceal this truth from me. That old, worn saying about your eyes being the windows to your soul... is true.
And what I see is a vast, barren wasteland devoid of warmth. I see emptiness. I'm sorry, love. I cannot stay, even if it breaks you to lose me. Until we meet again...

---

Day Ten

· a very crappy poem:

Locked up in this room
screaming, crying
please come
help me tear down these walls
suffocating me
let me out
to see the sunlight
just this once

---

Day Eleven

· revised version of the short story started on day seven: http://feline-fics.livejournal.com/4600.html

---

Day Thirteen

· a random little snippet:

So tired that I cannot think straight. All my reason has vanished, bled away in a single moment of doubt. Where I will go from here, I have no idea. There's only the road, and ashes of a past life that slipped away from me in that moment. I've burned all my bridges. I have no reason to live, so for now, I will walk, and merely survive.

---

Day Fourteen

· finished the short story started on day twelve: http://www.writersco.com/135.Short%20stories.L'esprit%20de%20l'escalier
· a haiku:

Shining upon us
the sun dries the bitter rain
of dark yesterday

---

Day Fifteen

· a contest entry: http://www.writersco.com/135.Contest%20Entries.FiveWordsApril07v2

---

Day Sixteen

· three haikus/senryus:

Gun in shaky hand
boy looks to his feet, dreading
eyes red with tears, guilt

Why will the stars not
answer the questions I ask
vainly seeking the skies

I have a love for
hopeless dreams of yesteryears
longing to be heard

---

Day Seventeen

· yet another haiku:

Birds they flew back north
to the murky air, waters
back to soiled home grounds

---

Day Eighteen

· made a new contest: Shower singers!

---

Day Nineteen

· an acrostic poem:

Love like you always do
only in the morning minding the consequences
vouching for ignorance - such a fool
even as she rebuilds her defences

---

Day Twenty

· a poem:

Oh, good riddance
the Queen proclaims
and doesn't question the stains
no trace of emotion on her marble face
a flicker of dark eyes
- she enjoys the horror
of blood droplets and broken bodies
coldly she stares, turns her head
and a smile graces royal lips,
whisper whisper whisper
echoes in the halls

---

Day Twenty-One

· a drabble for a contest: http://www.writersco.com/135.Contest%20entries.Drabbles%20-%20Spring

---

Day Twenty-Two

· another haiku:

Fluttering by on
buttercup blooms, a wee fae
soon lands on my nose

---

Day Twenty-Three

· a short story: http://www.writersco.com/135.Short%20stories.Reunion
· haiku:

Doorbell rings three times
"Hello luv, did you miss me?"
he grins with sharp teeth

---

Day Twenty-Four

· a tiny snippet:

Petals reach for the narrow strip of sunlight, streaming in through the barred window high above the gravelly floor. The flowers are scarce and sickly, near wilting, and it is a small miracle they even exist. Only a pace or two away, a figure shifts, crumpled in a heap and emitting low, faint sounds, as if whimpering. A frail hand stretches out, skin nearly translucent in the light, the veins unnaturally prominent against it. Tears muffle the small, broken voice.

"Mommy... I won't be a bad girl anymore..."

---

Day Twenty-Five

· snippets: http://www.writersco.com/135.Happy%20House.Ground%20floor

---

Day Twenty-Six

· more Happy House:

Obsessively neat, the room has no sign of disarray. No toys reveal the presence of children, all the seats are positioned perfectly. There is not a mote of dust to be seen. Even the empty ale cans stand in neat rows beside the low glass table, upon which remote controller, newspaper and flower vase all have their own spot. It is a room that, even though bathed in light coming through windows, seems hushed, lifeless. Dark. The only thing not arranged just so is the large basket near the television, colourful blankets bundled up in a heap, small tufts of fur here and there.
Pathetic little mewling sounds come from a basin right beside the balcony door. Its cover is transparent, with a few uneven holes punched through. The container is too small, and there is splashing caused by ineffectual attempts to be freed. Moments later, both sounds stop.

---

Day Twenty-Seven

· Happy House again:

Blowing out the last of the smoke, the man stumps his cigarette on the railing, shifts his stance, grunts. Flexes the hand that still smarts, both from the beating he gave the brat and from scratches made by tiny sharp nails. Shifts again as he feels heat pooling, finds himself longing the pliant flesh of his wife, soft as satin. These things excite him so.
As he glances down, he sees someone crossing the yard. One of that little slut's friends. She is such a disobedient girl, scratched him, tried to bite. Won't be getting out in a while. His wife will see to that. He stretches, turns back inside. Gazes thoughtfully at the basin, shrugs, heads for the stairs. Smiles lazily.

"Now, then... I think I'll go take my dessert first."

---

Day Twenty-Eight

· poem of three senryus:

Kisses like a piece
of heaven, her body next
to mine is pure bliss

Slamming the door she
is off on her high horse yet
again; I sit, wait

Our paths are twined tightly
still she has begun to tear
them at the seams, why?

---

Day Twenty-Nine

· a snippet:

Rain beats down on the shabby roof of the hut, dripping through the cracks, creating a maddening melody as the drops hit wooden floor or metal of a kettle. Two have curled up tightly inside blankets in front of the cold fireplace, hoping to stay warm, to ward off the freezing night with shared body heat. They know the attempt is futile; it is their third day here, and they are tired to the bone. Lost with nowhere else to go, they sit here and hope for someone, anyone, to come by. But it has been raining for a week, with an ever increasing force, so no one will come. Yet, they cannot leave. One whimpers in pain, cold sweat on a furrowing brow, and places a hand on a fully grown stomach. Leaving now would be suicide, worse yet, murder. All they can do is wait.

---

Day Thirty

· a short story: http://www.writersco.com/135.Contest%20entries.FamousFirstLines:%20Elisa
· a limerick:

A very nice boy, this kid called Matt
clean, polite, only one thing that's bad
he sometimes forgets to pay
so all the girls say
he is, in fact, quite the utter twat

---