Enough is Enough


by Megan Blaney


Enough! of the negativity

Self hatred

Self pity

Sitting on the cracked tile floor

reflections spearing flesh from scattered droplets


Enough! wallowing in darkness

Self created

Self initiated

Lurking in the crevice of a musty attic

eyes peering beneath blankets tossed over mirrors


Enough! looking to others for approval

Self love

Self appreciation

Emerging from the soil a changed creation

spine curving in new directions


Enough! losing yourself in mindless renewal

Self commitment

Self preservation

Stretching for the sunlight released from twisted bark

new growth fluttering in the wind


Enough! is enough


*PS – thank you to ismycameradrunk for the gorgeous picture, much more beautiful than the mediocre poetry accompaniment. Check out his blog, it’s amazing and entertaining.



Written 2/25/2016 by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

I launch off you to achieve my own unhappiness
Thank you for the inspiration

It means so much not to be alone in this world
I’ll show my appreciation by
Insulting your cooking in all sincerity

To what do you owe your success I’ll smile
While planning in darkness to use your answers
Against you in clever ways

You have no need to do the same
But find other ways to play

Your scorecard is kept in your back pocket, next to your phone
That you pull out when I’m telling you
This story about our future

I love this modern game of love, don’t you?

Note: “I usually like my poems to stand alone but I feel like this one needs an addendum, only if because it’s not ready to stand alone. It’s the first one I’ve written in a while, freeform as most of my poetry is. It just spills onto the page without much direction from me. After a while, I get better at it. Forgive my floundering efforts (like this one) while I struggle again to find my rhythm.”

Feast of Flies

written 6/08/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Sit for your feast of flies
The unborn dies
Rests its weary head upon
Your unopened thighs
Maggots squirm
Lies hide behind
Jagged teeth
Grinding stone, pallid bone
Flesh tears away
Withered, exposed
A tired bell tolls
A cracked fist
A painted white flower
Stand, quench your thirst
The unborn bursts
Inside, twists and writhes
The unborn dies
In circles of endless unlife
A feast for flies
Constant, unearthly cries
Fester behind
Tired unseeing eyes

“Slow Down” Tentative Title, a Short Story

    I wrote this over the past couple days. It’s a rough draft, as such it needs a little work. Feel free to offer comments, suggestions, corrections, or just read for the pleasure of it. (For some reason, the formatting is not working properly and paragraphs aren’t indenting like I want them to. I had to put a space in between each paragraph, and even that didn’t work at first. I apologize for the appearance.)

Written 5/28/2015

By Megan Blaney aka wiedinacht

     “Slow down, “she said.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel, then squinted down at the speedometer. “I’m only going five over.”

They’d been driving for over two hours, and had at least that to go.

“We’re not out of Worcester yet.” She bit at her nails, crimson red, inch and a half, $30 with a generous tip at Nail Top back home. “It’s a heavy cop area.” She looked out the window. A cyclist in a tight red bodysuit tried valiantly to come up along side them, but failed. She watched him for a bit in the side view mirror.

“Who says that?” He asked, putting on his blinker with a lazy flick of his hand.

She replied as he slid into the left lane, just ahead of a truck adorned with some landscaping logo, a grinning sunburnt face hovering over a lawnmower. “Says what?”

“A heavy cop area.” His eyes shifted to her briefly and a half grin flit across his face. When she didn’t respond right away, he slapped a hand to her thigh. A gesture meant to be playful, but was just a little too forceful.

Continue reading

Mildly Frustrated? Or something of a confession.

Can anyone tell me why I have (for example) two views and eleven likes? It doesn’t make sense to me. Why like something that you haven’t read? :/

Anyway, I wanted to post something different today. I’ve been putting up a scattering of poems that I’ve written, mostly because I think they reflect the stage of my life I’ve been going through. Now I’ve decided to throw up something of a journal.. And wouldn’t you know it, I can’t think of anything to say… So…

This is strange for me. I’ve always been a private person, so this decision to blog surprised me a little. Why share things with a world you’d rather close yourself off from? I guess I can take a little comfort in knowing that most people on this site appear just to breeze through, arbitrarily liking and following you in an attempt to induce you to do the same. Haha. Only kind of kidding.

I’ve been diagnosed recently with depression and anxiety. I suppose I’m in a rather wide, crowed boat. I think something like 121 million people worldwide have been diagnosed with depression, and something like one in ten people will suffer from some form of it at one point in their lives. (You may want to fact check me, I’m relying on my increasingly faulty memory to recall those figures.) Some may find that comforting. We aren’t alone, after all. I find it nauseating.

Maybe I thought that sharing my progression through this illness (and hopefully beyond it), albeit in a somewhat distanced form, would be therapeutic? I don’t know. I’ve begun (yet again) to doubt my decisions. I suppose the best thing to do would be to continue and see, wouldn’t it?

This isn’t what I intended to write about. See what happens when you don’t set goals? 😉

Anyway, signing off for now. I have a warm bed and blanket calling my name.

(Also, what is a slug? Besides an oozy garden creature. It’s under advanced settings, and I can’t find it in help.. probably because I’m lazy.)

Eight O’Clock Sharp

A banker’s commute

Written 5/7/2015

By Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Intermittent clouds

Play games with the sun, cut grass sings

Like the vibrating cords of a supplicant

Torn loose from his god

Bringing sweet scent to the air

Birds twitter away

Oh how I wish I could be included in the


Their secret lives

The joke’s on us I suppose

A cat stretches, bites at hidden fleas

Bolts sudden from his ambush site, sight

Runs from mine

Behind trees

Alarm calls explode around

Screeching sirens pierce like blades

That settle suddenly on silence, pregnant

With expectations of horrible things

With a hesitant, dare I say brave?

Single sharp sign

The chorus begins again

I walk on

Passing lovers holding hands

And kissing, oblivious to the

Scene transpiring around them

Onto the crosswalk

I pass a thin man, lit cigarette in hand

A gecko tattooed on his exposed wrist

Out of the park, back to the cubicle

At my desk for eight

O’clock sharp