Stories – ArtemesiaBlack

ArtemesiaBlack Stories

DAWG

Performed by ArtemesiaBlack
Written by Sabine Heusler-Schick ©copyright / all rights reserved

“I’ll make a taxidermy of your head” he said.

Who say’s that?

“I’ll come home when I am good and ready woman”, he said

Whooooo say’s that?

“I’m gonna throw you out and lock the door, you can go sleep with the dogs” he said.

Ha, you treat those dogs better than me I said… and when he was up real close to my face, I looked for any kind of good in those eyes… and all I see is black…

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror no more, my eyes used to be a lovely shade of grey… when they all turn white???

ohoooo my darling
ohoooo my darling young one
why do you shed a tear for him
when you know he’s not the one
you know he don’t love you like you think that he should
you know he’s out chasing tail all around the neighborhood
he treat you like a dog
he treat you like a dog

ohoooo my honey pie
ohoooo my sweet young thing
who do you cry all night for him
when he don’t give you anything
you know he don’t love you like you think that he should
you know he’ll never be the one that you think he could
he treat you like a dog
he treat you like a dog

you know he don’t love you like you think that he should
you know he’ll never be the man that you think he could
he treat you like a dog
he treat you like a dog

Look at yourself  in the mirror tonight
do you see  what you have become…..
you’re better than that
you’re better than that
you’re better than that
you’re better than that

Oysters

Performed by ArtemesiaBlack
Written by Sabine Heusler-Schick © copyright / all rights reserved

1913 and Irma Fox was star.

Adored and idolized by everyone… especially… by a Mr Turner Gray.

Everynight in her dressing room, he came with flowers and champagne, sparkly things, shiny things… and oysters…

One evening, just before the curtain fell, at her last harrah, her last peaked vowel… she fell… right there on stage… quite dead.

Everyone was in shock, everyone screamed… everyone,,, except…

his wife.

Oysters and Rockets
I’ve stones in my pockets
I’ve dreams in my head
and stars in my eyes

Red roses wishes
desires on kisses
a head full of dreams
that barely survive

My crucifix
my holy burden
my duty
my cross to bare

I’m not ready to go
I’m not ready, I’m not ready to go
I’m not ready, I’m not ready to go
I’m not ready, I’m… not… ready….
to go….

Oysters and rockets
stones in my pockets
I’ve dreams in my head and stars…

Francis Rae

Oh Francis Rae by the cat fish river, in the old wood cabin that we built together, if I could write you I would send you a letter, the war is ended and I’m only days away.

Oh Francis Rae all these years I’m longing, I miss you more than I could ever say, I hope your ankles are cooling in the river, the war is ended and I’m only days away.

Out past the bridge and the rocks in the river, the waters run red where the angels fell, I saw the light high up above me, hurricane take me to eternal grace, hurricane take me to eternal grace.

Oh if I could write you and if only you could read, I would send a parson to be waiting when I came, to hold us by the hands and bind us together, now the war is over and you did surely wait

Oh Francis Rae I stand at your doorway, empty and hollow and the rooms stark and bare, I wonder the street to the house of my brother, I see in the window that you surely didn’t wait.

Out past the bridge and the rocks in the river, the waters run red where the angels fell, I saw the light high up above me, hurricane take me to eternal grace, hurricane take me to eternal grace.

Oh Francis Rae I can see you on the table, arms embraced on my brothers kitchen bench, I flew through the door with my face all a flaming, the war is over and my lover didn’t wait.

Took her by the hair and marched her to the river, she lost her footing and she fell on the rocks, with blood on my hands I could surely couldn’t save her, the war is over and I have lost my love.

Out past the bridge and the rocks in the river, the waters run red where the angels fell, I saw the light high up above me, hurricane take me to eternal grace, hurricane take me to eternal grace…

Annabelle

When I was 13 I had a daydream, lay on a bed and I stared at the ceiling. Followed a whisper to a place, a blanket of thorns soft under my feet, that went for miles and miles. Tree trunks like poles held canopy, keep in the cool and keep out the light, and all about rays pierced like knives into the green and dirt. Follow a whisper to a stream shiny moss and trickle. Walking along under stumbling stones and fog held me under. Then my eyes caught a pale white hand, catching water falling and to the arm a pale white cheek, deepest red hair that embraced it, pale white shoulder, pale night dress… and dirt. Then in a whisper clear and calm, from cherry lips all pert and round, she turned with eyes pale and worn… hope he doesn’t find you here.