Samuel Moniker

Here to improve. Honesty, please. Criticism is welcome. Changed names on here a lot. Just bored with monikers.

297

Writings

103

Followers

Following

Samuel Moniker

Here to improve. Honesty, please. Criticism is welcome. Changed names on here a lot. Just bored with monikers.

297

Writings

103

Followers

Following

Clean It Til It Stops

Samuel Moniker

3 min read

Anytime he stopped cleaning, he felt the it calling. And so he cleaned until it was all he knew.

Harvey’s days were filled with scrubbing floors and obsessive dusting. The floor glared with the light from the window while windows themselves were spotless. He wiped them daily at 4:50 PM. The rest of his day fit a certain schedule, starting with dishes first thing in the morning.

On one particular...

Horror

Crime

Crying In The Cradle

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

Syllables echo in a yelp

Across the atmosphere,

Creeping across clouds,

Hushed like a Japanese city.

Its citizens taught to keep quiet

Under a culture that silenced them

More than a librarian having a grand time.

And so their quiet screams like a baby

Calling for its mother

in the middle of the night.

The silence being so loud

—

That you can’t hear anything else....

Poetry

Between Thorny Roses

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

You sit between two roses

whose bloom has pulled

all to see

though when I say two,

really, I should say three

because the two

prick and cause

those who gaze on them

to bleed,

while you are lovier

and only wish to be

with someone—

who stops to smell the roses...

In And Out

Samuel Moniker

2 min read

Saul’s fate always felt inescapable—like a hand came out of the sky and set him on a path at birth.

“Take this filth out of here,” said the bouncer. “Mr. Marconi is done with him.”

Two other men had Saul by the shoulders, lifting him just high enough that his feet couldn’t reach the ground. Through the red tinted hallway, up the steps, and thrown onto the curb. Something seemed to crack when the...

A Confession

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

I don’t know a thing about him. Nope, nothing at all. You expect me to be saying something. I’m not saying anything.

Still here? Nope. Nada. I refuse. Unless you’re here for a good time? Are you here to laugh? Are you here to cry? Do you believe you have the right guy? You have the wrong guy, but I might know something—or I could be lying. You might never know.

He’s about yay tall and has black ...

Crime

Warmth In The Ice

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

Writing on theme. 4 poems.

1) A Path Through Snow

I pushed my way across the field of snow

but found the path as if I never crossed.

The trees adorned with white and icy clothes

all lost in season’s cold about the frost.

And still, I wait to see the wrong I did

as though the snow will prove the lie in me.

And yet, I see that no one ever saw

the path that was left for me.

No one left a shovel

o...

Poetry

“…and all they could do was cry.”

Samuel Moniker

2 min read

One way to use a prompt. 4 stories.

1) The Return

Danielle came home—skinnier than ever with her jeans torn, her blouse stained from blood and dirt, and a scar on her hip. Later, her mother would ask about the scar, but Danielle would never give her an answer.

None of that mattered now. Danielle was alive, and all they could do was cry.

2) The Run Away

The white death came on without warning....

Undead Notes

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

July 8th, 5:01 AM

Hissing and screaming,

They bring her to the barred cell

and give her a shot.

(He says to me: “Don’t look her in the eyes without these.”)

July 8th, 7:53 AM

Her heart does not beat,

with ivory skin—blue eyes,

I would not have known.

(He says: “Keep her chained to the bed, she’s strong, but not steel strong.”)

July 8th, 11:53 AM

She wakes up all tired,

Puts her hand on her ...

Horror

Poem: Life is like a sharp stick

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

Life is like a sharp stick placed to your rear,

poking the cheeks when you want to stop. Time does not stop. Time will not stop. Does the stick leave you dripping red?

The stick sits firmly behind us, making us keep pace, tiring us as it marches us across a desert—the sand burns our feet, the sun braises our skin, and the dry air parches our throat.

We walk toward an oasis of trees whose locatio...

Poetry

I Love You

Samuel Moniker

1 min read

How many times

will

I say it?

At least once more—

after each time—

I say it will do,

Because saying it once

readies the next time

to be said anew.

And since I will

then say, “I love you,”

forevermore,

I’m afraid I’ll say it

to you more than anything

I have or will have thought

to say before....

Poetry