Kira Burton wants you to see this Amazon.com


The Thieves of Fate https://www.amazon.com/dp/153778210X/ref=cm_sw_r_other_apa_EfujybMWRKTQ9

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 iconoclastgrey@gmail.com

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 lulu.com 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 Angrybrainartworks.com 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.

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The Process of Grieving


The Process of Grieving

D is for denial, but that was always more your bit than mine.

There is no letter for sleeping but never dreaming and only wasting time.

A is for anger, but I dropped that feeling long ago and yet I was never free.

For my anger burns but for you I have nothing but cold hatred that lives inside of me.

B is for bargaining and if I were to give anything of note

It would be every lesson you ever taught us shoved straight down your throat.

D is for depression and what an irony, long ago that gift was already given to me.

As you lashed out, I slashed myself and learned how to bleed.

A is for acceptance but if I were to tell the truth

It was long ago that I stopped grieving for you.

A poem entitled Wonderland


 

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

Condescendingly

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 Love is a Mental Illness


Love is a Mental Illness

It started out with mutual hatred

Misconceptions that lead to harsh words and avoidance

Years passed

And our understanding was that

It would last forever

The times our friends forced it

Was the only time that we ever spent together

Then something clicked and we began to speak

The meeting of our eyes sent chills through me

Even though you remained oblivious

Trapped in the clutches of insignificant others

Our shackles were affection that smothered

And passive aggressive manipulative tools

That kept you from me and me from you

Then we became royalty

Prince and Princess of Darkness

Suicide pacts were made

We just needed a wagon and the perfect day

But a freezing night

It lead to a first kiss

And windows covered in sleet

That moment changed me

Years later and I still kind of hate you

Even though no one else can make me laugh like you do

Sometimes love talks too much

Sometimes love doesn’t pay attention

And dare I mention

That there is no fight

Like the battle that descends like madness

Between two people unwilling to give in

Unwilling to give up

Sometimes I love you so much

I could smother you in your sleep

Sometimes love is unconcerned

That your mind is screaming

And your heart is burned

Only to be the salve

That you so desperately needed

And sometimes love is selfish

And you feel like you are alone

I am still working on the remedy

But just know that I see

And I adore you silently

So let’s live like college students

For no children will come

We will mock each other

And yell at the top of our lungs

When we are not even fighting

We will make mistakes

That we will regret

And the best of those haven’t happened yet

We will fail

We will forgive

Frustration is a given

Pain is how we know that we live

And that is what love is

A poem entitled the Writers Conundrum


The Writer’s Conundrum

I remember when I was only a child

And I was amazed that a simple stroke of my pen could make words

Beautiful words

Even when they were not profound of brilliant

They were beautiful

But there is a rabbit hole that comes with writing

A spiral of self-loathing

That comes from the words that get stuck in your throat

Until you choke on them

You fight and you struggle

Until you find the right word

Then comes the doubt

The voice that chastises that you could have done better

One of the most painful things for me is to walk away from a completed piece

As it is not completed it is merely abandoned

But like an addict

I keep writing

For no other reason than it is who I am

In a way every piece of writing is a failure

Because your weird little hearts thinks that it could be better

So you choke on these words

And you choke because in the end it is worth it

And even if it is not worth it

You can’t stop yourself

The words call to you

You have no choice to answer them

Demons


Demons

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