fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Archive for the tag “light”



I followed my feelings,

and got lost. 

I learned late.  

That shit only works in movies. 

In truth,

there are no heroes,

or prisoners.

No princesses,

or monsters.

Except those you imagine. 

But there is one part of the story that’s true.

We are all orphans,

left to raise ourselves

in the shadows we create. 

I want to be alone in the sun.

To be warm,

where nothing blocks the light.

Understood by all,

because all is only me. 

And if then lost,

the only absence I will know

is of the noise I left behind.


© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday



Days of the week,

or weekend,

the same. 

Shadows in the place of light,

morning and night. 

No noon.


Late I wake,

in the waning sun,

not set. 

With afternoon’s first cup,

must wake up. 

Too soon.


Adapting to this life,


Into halogen and pixel,

I shrink,

lacking melanin,


Cold moon.


Upon words,

a ladder to climb. 

Voices above cry out, 

join our Netherworld escape,

prison break. 

Lifeless womb.


Through endless dreams,

or not,


A solitary life of doubt,

must get out. 

In hope assume.


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday



Darkness isn’t darkness if you 

look in the light

I never know when I’m gonna

feel alright

Blind for a lifetime

Now the end is in sight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

So let’s all sing a 

Hallelujah tonight

Let’s all sing a

Hallelujah tonight


(written on November 6th, 2016, for Leonard Cohen)


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Serial – Three: Purged

man over toilet bowl on white background. Isolated 3D image

man over toilet bowl

I’ve been asked if I will ever write ‘light’, as if the only emotion I have within me is ‘dark’.  When that happens, I usually shrug.  Not the literal kind, with shoulders that move, and a face like an open-mic comic delivering a punchline.  But an internal shrug that says, “You wouldn’t understand”.  These words of mine, in their form and ordered on the page, are not an extension of all that is within me, but an expression of all that must be purged out of me.

© Copyright 2015 Bill Friday

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