Kira Burton wants you to see this

The Thieves of Fate

You can order a physical book or kindle version above but if  you would like a signed copy or one of the beautiful prints drawn by  James Burton II please conact me at

My first short novel Thieves of Fate is a psychological tale with moments of horror that envelope you like a nightmare, themes of identity and consequence that send the mind into a spiral, and scenes of very human dark humor in the form of wit and sarcasm that help you whistle past the graveyard.

The protagonist Jack is a legend in his own mind even if he has no idea who he is and as his story progresses he is growing more fearful that he is losing what little grip he has on reality.

Jack spends half his time in the Territories Psychiatric Hospital and the other half in places and memories that he cannot be sure are real. And yet the more he visits these places that his mind says are only dreams and these memories that a voice in his head says are false the more he starts to wonder where the truth really lies.

He meets a cast of characters. At Territoties they are other patients, therapists, psychiatrists, and orderlies. In the other places he meets supernatural beings called Thieves that look like children but are absolutely not. And there are more things in the other places. Things that Jack does not understand. Things that Jack is scared to understand.

When I created Thieves of Fate I went imto a dark alley and roughed up Greek and Christian mythology taking what I wanted and leaving the rest. I added what odd bits of allegory and indiscriminate eavesdroppings of lore that I could pick from the pockets of superstition and black market beliefs.

So no matter where Jack is or who he meets he is never quite sure who is trying to help him and who is trying to hurt him. At times he is even forced to wonder that about himself.

Jack’s story is one that will leave you unsettled. It is a story that always has a new secret to reveal but never tells them all. But if you are willing to see it through to the end you will find that it has a pulse, it has a beating heart. What you find within that heart is up to you.

Which truth is the honest one? Which reality is real? Who exactly is Jack? Not even I can answer those questions… but you can.

Thieves of Fate was written by Kira Burton. My other published work is Spilled Ink a book of poetry that you can find on and will be coming to Kindle soon. Spilled Ink is a book filled with honesty and vulnerability and you will find certain pieces in it that appear no where else

Thieves of Fate was ilustrated by the incredible artist James Burton II. Creator, writer, artist for the amazing  superhero comic with a twist Damage Inc. Character driven and unbelievably fun Damage Inc is worth reading. He has also worked as a collaborator on several other comics. He is currently  working with SCATTERED INC. Check out some of his work at In 2017 James and I will be collaborating  on The Ballad of Nod, a breathtakingly beautiful comic that brings together dark fantasy and children’s dream worlds. With incredibly vibrant, complex story telling and rich, vivid visuals Nod brings to life a child’s dreams and nightmares in such a way that will make you want to return again and again no matter what age you grow to be.


A Death Has Occurred

So many things I should have said

So many simple spoken words that could have altered lives


Time moves on in gentle, dusty swirls

Universes expand and we step moments closer to eternity


Have faded away

One more blurry photograph

In the stammering collage of my past.

You have become just another supernatural thought

To make the visions on my eyelids all the more tragic

Once you were held high

An ephemeral angel created for my admiration

But not even creatures divine

Can fly

On the frail wings of broken hopes

So you fell….

You were left shattered and broken

On the concrete of my mind

Then you fell so low in my regard

That your scattered bones barely existed

I am certain that my death has occurred in your thoughts

My face twisted by sharp words

My body massacred by misplaced aggression

However this apparent fact does not hold my attention

So who am I to think

That you would be troubled

That I read your obituary aloud in my dreams?

A poem entitled Wonderland




I knew better than to fall down that rabbit hole

I knew better than to follow

A rabbit with a waistcoat and a pocket watch

But impulse took over and logic was lost

I tumbled down

And slowly I fell

Like an acid trip in hell

Where the clocks don’t tell time

But they know soliloquies and rhyme

And the only game the playing cards know

Is Russian roulette

But the guns are loaded

With nonsense bullets

They shoot you in the head

With word play and a pun

They laugh like jesters

And you wish death would come

You find yourself in a garden the roses painted red

A game of croquet begins

And once again

You almost lost your head

The queens are insane

Forcing the game

As the king stand idly by

Agreeing with every whim

“Off with his head!”

He will make sure it is anyone but him

Is it simply a con?

A trial where the one who is guilty

Is the one who dared to not claim fealty

So you taste a mushroom

And change size

You can hide or destroy

Depending on which side

You try

In hindsight

Maybe you should not have taken

The drug dealing caterpillars advice

And the chesire cat grins

Because no matter who loses

He always seems to win

If the ax falls

Much to your dread

Can you stand on your head?

But never mind that

Have another cup of tea

The Hatter has been poisoned

And the dormouse has narcolepsy

The flowers speak


But if plucked from the soil

They grow silent and die

Never to be saved

And then they reside

In a shallow grave

Although I rarely ever take it

I give myself very good advice

Perhaps I should have listened about this nonsense

Perhaps I should not have indulged this vice

A slippery slope is Wonderland

Until leaving give you pause

And the crocodile welcomes little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws

And if you dare to break free

If you can find a way to

The sad fate that awaits

Is through the looking glass for youwonderland

A poem entitled Dark Inspiration

Dark Inspiration

Two a.m. is for writers

When the world sleeps

Our souls come alive

And we are forced under threat of anguish

To obey the demons inside

The ones with the silver tongues

That croon write, write, write

We are puppets on strings

And they laugh as

They make us dance

In the real world

Knowing that

We will always come back

Because there is nothing like the way these words feel

The highest of highs

They are silver in our veins

We take our injection with a smile

And grin at the pain

Some call it talent

We call it obsession

We ignore the world and commit

Unspeakable transgressions

Because the birth of words

Is an abomination in the form of a scream

It haunts our dreams

It lowers our self esteem

With each crumpled ball of paper

We are convinced we have failed

Upon the cross we hang

In our palms are nails

Yet it is worth it

For every page that we save

Every syllable that lets our heart beat

For each adjective we would gladly bleed

Writing is not art it is lunacy

It is the madness of staying hidden

Only to crave to be seen

So call to me demon and I will obey

Be it sickness or genius

I love my blood on this page



I know that I am being told lies

But I can’t stop listening

This blade is against my skin

This noose is around my neck

And I just want it to stop

A pipedream if there ever was one

Because here comes another crisis

Taking poetic license

Turning reality

Into a tortured aberration writhing

A horror beyond description in writing

I am screaming and shouting

And abandoning resolve

Until into tears I dissolve

I sob and weep

Until I am too weak

To do anything but sleep

And in come the nightmares

Like a parade of clowns in Hell

Here come the closet skeletons

With hideous secrets from voiceless throats to tell

Close your eyes

And deny

That they exist

It will work for a minute

Until you feel their kiss

What a sweet lover is madness

They call it acceptance

I call it giving in

To the desperate hands

Clawing at my skin

You don’t just say I am broken

And that is my fate

No, if you are me

You rage

You beg

You do anything to change

Only to spiral down again

Only to feel that noose again

And loathe the sickness

That is your curse

I can never tell if the cure

Or the disease is worse