Silver Daux

Joined May 2021

419 stories

Bio

Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.

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Stories (419)

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Serrated Knives
I should have known that your words Were never meant to be poppy petals Across my tear-weary, red-rimmed eyes But a serrated blade across my belly.
By Silver Dauxabout a year ago in Poets
And The Bees Dance
I have honeybees on my ankles And bumblebees for eyes. Flowers are blooming in my bones, Pushing out of my pores. . There are carpenter bees
By Silver Dauxabout a year ago in Poets
Arrogance
Do the arrogant weep over the shards of themselves? Do they cradle the brittle, fragile pieces of their reflection And carve their failures into their flesh to remember?
By Silver Dauxabout a year ago in Poets
Chicken Skin
"Oh," he said, sounding oddly dejected as he peeled the skin from the chicken breast and tossed it limply onto the plate in a corner with the rest. "That was your first clue?"
By Silver DauxExclusive • about a year ago
Feeding
Feed me the flesh beneath that tight suit fabric. Let me dig my claws into those fine trousers And tear them apart until every inch of your soul
By Silver Dauxabout a year ago in Poets
Maybe
Maybe I have run out of words to offer you. Maybe the sack of sacrifice in my chest Has finally scraped the last off the bottom.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets
Folk Tales & Night Drives
I am a human until the rains pull in on the horizon, Human until I must wade out of the reeds and taste The ambrosia of sticky fear inside warm human blood.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets
Scattered
Dream, dream, dream of the rose petals Scattered Across dark grey sheets by hands of moonlight. Dream and nightmare and dance through insomnia
By Silver DauxExclusive • 2 years ago
Crashing Moon
Burn me at sunset and dance around the flames! Bind my hands, no in fact, rip them off. Make this escape the greatest feat of magic
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets
Cigarettes and Reapers
It’s Blue Oyster Cult and it’s stuck in the wild waves Of choppy hair, the silt gray eyes, and upside-down grin That tastes like smoke and knows how to spell “trouble”.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets
Rotten
She was dead then. Gone as a wisp of smoke on the cold wind of January. They were all gone. Wife, children, and town turned into smoking ashes rising high in the black, moonless night like some sick epitaph. Azec gazed out across the smoldering town, searching for any twinkle of triumph in the rubble like a heron seeking fish in a toxic lake.
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Fiction
Television Flames
Neon Lights bleed around me, drip down my ankles Like an overly-needed thunderstorm. Lie with me won't you, in these ghostly lights?
By Silver Daux2 years ago in Poets