Every time he pushes the needle into his vein, Peter sees Tinkerbell's last moments. Not that he needs the drug for that; all he really has to do is close his eyes and he's back there. Nothing has felt right since that day, and of course now that she's dead, he's stuck here.

Here. Here is London. It's pouring rain, and Peter is huddled in the alley beside the Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital, getting soaked. It's late evening, and people are rushing past the alley mouth under umbrellas, hurrying home or to the tram stop. Peter hunches over, rain pelting the back of his neck. He wears a wool stocking cap all the time here; pointed ears draw too much attention, lead to too many brawls with other street boys.

Sometimes, in the afternoons, he is able to slip inside the Hospital and wander around and just curl up in a corner of the lobby for a few hours, before the watchman notices him and rousts him out again. From there, he always comes here, to the alley, from the mouth of which he can watch the front of the Hospital building and see who comes and goes.

Whenever he goes into the alley, he reaches into his pocket for the school chalk he stole from the parish school near Haymarket and makes a mark on the bricks of the alley mouth, above his own head, but eye level on a grown man. Peter, as ever, looks like fourteen-year-old boy.

The little needle trembles in his hand. He's running out of veins; he's blown the ones in his arms and ankles. He had to hide behind a stack of broken crates and garbage just now and use the vein in his dick. The drug slithers into him like a burrowing worm and he leans against the wet brick wall, growing oblivious to the cold, oblivious to the London sealing him off from Neverland.

Peter forces his eyes to stay open, even though his lids feel made of solid iron. He tries to watch the comings and goings at the Hospital, but it is no use. His long-lashed eyes, bright green - the most beautiful eyes a boy ever had, a man once told him - fluttered shut and there was Tinkerbell. 

Hook had torn her open from the neck, well, downward. Hook was a syphilitic maniac; Peter had been too busy binding up Smee to help, he thought she'd be able to fly away, tinkling her laugh as he swooped just out of Hook's reach. But Peter had been, for the first time, too late, and Hook too insane. 

How long ago now was that? He had an idea, but didn't want to think too much about it. Slumped against the wall, Peter waited, muttering to himself. He missed the Lost Boys, when he was coming down. He'd like to do this drug with them, he'd thought many times.

Peter hears a man's footsteps, a man's walking cane tapping at the mouth of the alley. Adrenaline suddenly pours into him, waking him, jangling his nerves. He pushes off the wall and faces the man.

It is Michael Darling. Thank god it is Michael Darling. He is older now, maybe twenty. They've met, many times. Michael looks over his shoulder, then quickly darts into the alley. 

"Hello, Peter," he says, his voice like a silk scarf. Peter just nods. Michael's look bores into him. Peter nods again and turns to face the wall. Michael moves behind him. The night air is cold on his ass, and the hot pain of Michael makes Peter feel frozen and burning alive at once. As always, Michael makes Peter tell him about Tink as he goes into him.

After, Michael Darling drops three ampules into Peter's outstretched hand and leaves without a word. Peter tucks them securely down the front of his pants. He retreats deeper into the alley, again behind the pile of crates and garbage. A fire escape overheard offers a small shelter from the rain.

Peter slides into sleep, into deeper oblivion. There she is, of course, waiting. How do I get back home, he asks her in his dream. He hears tinkling, like glass bells far away, and in his head it sounds like she is saying goodbye.

I want to write.

I want to make words

Soar across the page

To ask a thousand questions

And answer each

Even as I ask them.

I want to climb mountains

So I can see

The world stretch out below me

I want to be lost in the mire

With only words

To get me out again.

Everyday I want to

Fall in love with words again

Come to blows with words again

Reconcile with words again

Heaven is an empty page and pen.

Murder is not an act of aggression or hate

but one of love

my passion, my lust

my desires it abates

their insides open to air and dust

ooh, it gives me a rush

the gleam of blood not roses or cheeks

that color gives me the thrill I seek.

My fervored acts of killing and torture

take away someone elseʼs future

I donʼt see the beauty in tennis or knitting

But rather in cleaving heads and throat slitting

Many lives have I taken

never to be again

Killing is my nature, it canʼt be forsaken

Murder is my lover

Mon amour forever

Come close to me

Lets rock slowly

Back and forth

Let the gentle breeze take us

Let the cool fall air bathe us

Until our eyes close

Nestled inside our arms

Gently connecting

As we take in the day

Taking in our love

Together as one

K.j.a (c) 2016

They call him a monster, even though he's obviously not. Maybe I'm the only one who can still see it, the good in him. They say he's killed before, but who are they to talk? People kill more than each other, which is strange, sure, but true.

So I'll make him a hero. I'll make them see.

That light in his eyes he gets when he sees me, how we just sat and talked for the longest times, our friendship, I thought I was prepared to see it all ripped away, that I could be his villain. And it was hard to see that coldness in his bright emerald eyes when he looked at me. It hurt that his arms around me weren't hugging me, but pushing me harshly to the ground.

It was a macabre kind of happiness, a cruel way of heated torture.

I can see from the tenth story window of my complex of operations, the press van as it ambles to a halt next to him as he walks down the blustery street. I can see the light in his eyes when he talks to the reporter, and I lower my binoculars because they're getting kind of blurry through my tears.

For a moment, just a moment, I could have sworn those shining jade eyes flicked up towards me.

It's a sweet poison, being my best friend's villain, but I'll keep doing it as long as you keep looking at me like that. I'll be the villain any day, as long as you keep being my hero.

If we never meet again

I will live the rest of my life in pain

For you are now the reason I have to live

Before I never felt I had anything to give

Your smile showed me the light

The moon span around you like a satellite

Everything you touch seems to come alive

Without you I doubt that I could survive

Your simple words resonate and echo inside my mind

Before hearing you speak my heart was confined

Now it is free to love and I offer it to you

For when I look into your eyes I see everything as new

So I will search for you until my dying day

All I hope is that you do not turn me away

----------------------------------------------

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

He used to watch her walking along the shore

With every day that passed he wanted her more

Her red hair and pink dress blowing in the breeze from far away

He was shy he couldn´t find the words to say

One morning no different from any other he decided to speak

She just smirked at him and walked off as if he were some freak

Again he sat but this time his mind was toiling

His blood thickening it began boiling

Instead of dreaming to kiss her straight rose lips

Instead of wishing to embrace her straight girl hips

He thought of hurting her as she´d hurt him

The things he thought of were nothing but pure sin

He wanted to cut her to see her bleed

To hear her scream with pain became his new need

So one morning again like any other he followed as she walked

He called to her but she ignored him never talked

In anger he hastened his speed

Ever growing inside his head was his evil need

He grabbed at the back of her red shiny hair

Pulled her onto the sand so fair

Her face shocked and with no words she stared

He could see her fear but he never cared

The feeling gave him feelings he´d never felt before

At her dress he tore and tore

Enraged he dragged her into the foaming water

This someone´s child this someone´s daughter

She fought she scratched she screamed but no one was near

He just smiled his smile never shed a tear

Deeper and deeper he pushed her in until he could not see her face

He held her head under the grey blue sea

Seeing art in the way her hair swirled wild and free

He watched the life in her eyes just fade

Then he loosened his grip on his beautiful mermaid

----------------------------------------------

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

I often visit the graves

of the people I used to be.

It doesn't help

when he reminds me constantly

of who I was previously.

My body count was two.

I was clumsy this time around,

slipped the knife on you.

You lie there underground,

your soul is colder now.

I can't raise you from the dead,

they'll say I'm messing with your head.

I swear, it wasn't my intention

to keep you from a chance at redemption.

You can pull through the dirt,

you can push through the hurt,

let your bleeding hands rise above the Earth.

Get up in your feet

and dust off the defeat.

Be a better person than me.

A grave with two headstones,

your name written in bold.

I'm the person your ghost

will forever call home.

Cry, cut bleed repeat

That's my nightly routine

Look at me, you see me smile?

I've been faking for quite awhile

No one noticed, no one cared

For me there was nobody there

Every time I've opened up

They quickly took back their love How deeply I can cut, that's my favorite game

It's the only thing that distracts me from the pain

People only care when you're dead and gone

It looks like for me it won't be that long

Cry, cut, bleed, repeat

Until there's nothing left of me

follow the stream down

through the forest,

walk upon the mush

and wounded soil,

cut slow by blades of rain,

full of fish

that swim in blood,

where hesitation

becomes a prophecy,

where laughter

frightens crows,

and none of us will

be strong enough

to break the ground

that holds us,

but we'll sure as hell

carve a path

through the tombstone-trees,

all waiting,

to be remembered.

all failing,

to touch the sky.