Lori Hazelton
Bio
Creating something that can capture a reader is one of my passions.
Stories (9/0)
Not Serious
Shaking in the dark fearful someone will see. Hair oily from lacking a wash, body dirty from no soothing waters, stomach either bursting with garbage or gurgling sickly from the acidic void; none of these pleasantries given. None of them felt deserved. Invisible wire sewn into the trembling lips that will never tell. Eyes now too dry to cry and too wide to sleep.
By Lori Hazelton6 years ago in Poets
Season’s Dance
It was always you. Standing there in that beautiful dress. Your hair flowing around you like a luminescent halo of fluid air. A smile too irresistible to not kiss, but contagious like a sickness is what you gave me when we first met. It was spring. Oh, the irony of such a gorgeous time of life in renew. Our love grew like life grows into the summer: small, fertile, then a harmonious boom of green; Like your eyes. Oh, how we’d dance and how we’d soar into each day! You were my sun, in every moment of the light. You were my stars and the vibrant moon herself within our long nights. No chill could touch us, our love was all we needed to stay warm, but, now… You’re not dancing. The moment flew and swayed like autumn's leaves being ripped from their branches. Your warmth is gone. Your smile now a blank set of painted lips by the mortician’s hands. I give them one last kiss as I send you off, flowers surrounding your beautiful locks, and my tears the only warmth I feel as they lay you to rest within Gaia’s tender arms. It is winter forever now. There is no life with your absence my angel, no warmth gives comfort from the mass of sympathized hands. Only you, my still spring lily, could give life meaning and warmth… I could never feel it 'til the instant we met. It was always you.
By Lori Hazelton6 years ago in Poets
Beneath the Snake Grass
The children frolic through the flowers and the green grass of summer, chasing the fuzzy butterflies. So happy they are, free of the house and chores, they jump and play. Cheeks vibrantly flushed with the euphoria of a beautiful day, drawing, unbeknownst, to their plays end.
By Lori Hazelton6 years ago in Poets
Frigid Lies My Lover
Her skin is cold to the touch, the smooth surface reminiscent of a once passionate embrace; oh, how I missed the warmth it once carried. As we both lie there in bed, locks of gold trail over the silken pillows and her breath is that of the steady ocean’s swell in its rhythm. I always knew you’d be the death of me. Turning onto my side to look at my heart’s cruel captor, I look upon the face of Lucifer himself; alluring, seductive, and full of lies. Does he see what I see within you? Could you give a care? My thoughts scream to my every sense, the swell of silent agony collecting within my chest. The pulse of memories returning from earlier in the day, each second like a beat to the impending doom of my love. Soft lips caressing tanned flesh, sighs like an evocative echo of falsehoods draping over you, like his limbs, and resting upon your breast…Did the thought of me run across your beautiful mind and stop long enough for you to see? Or did it wander and stop beating to my very presence? Stop as I did to see you like this, my art. You killed me. As I lie here within our bed of broken vows and promises, like you, my heart is now cold. Frigid.
By Lori Hazelton6 years ago in Poets
Whispers in the Trees
Crisp leaves crinkled under the heavy work boots clad on Emona’s tired feet. Taking time off to mourn was something she wasn’t used to. Not even the scenery given to her by the beautiful fall Appalachian Trail seemed to help. Sighing, she adjusted the purple scrunchy in her curly dark brown hair and rubbed her face exhaustedly. Everything reminded her of death; the nearly bare trees, the cold air that made her dark skin rise with goosebumps, and the ground decorated with the scattered brown and yellow corpses. The land had lost the once vibrant and adventurous vibe it used to give the two of them.
By Lori Hazelton6 years ago in Horror