After strangling Brandon Miller to death and being successfully prosecuted, John Marks soon discovers a new program through the penal system. As punishment, certain criminals are allowed to live with the families of their victims. He qualifies. Living with the Millers teaches him things he never suspected about himself. The one thing they never knew about their only son until he was murdered: that he was a homosexual. And forgiveness just keeps getting harder...
Click on the title to view the preview and buy the book.
Click on the title to view the preview and buy the book.
All content Copyright Chryse Wymer 2007-2008
This Website Designed By Anne Rogers Copyright 2007-2008
This Website Designed By Anne Rogers Copyright 2007-2008
Some of Chryse Wymer's Poetry
Vampires
Vampires plague our bedroom
They stumble across our cotton sheets
these criss-crossing drunken houseguests
who glance at the garlic necklace
dangling from our headboard.
We look at each other
Like ordinary lovers
considering the colors
red and pink
as we go skipping by with gossamer caresses
That not even a vampire can see.
Their death invades us
with the evening news
and video games,
music that stifles thought and emotion.
They crawl across our bedsheets
and look for us,
But we are hiding in each other's arms
sealed up with a kiss.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2007
Vampires plague our bedroom
They stumble across our cotton sheets
these criss-crossing drunken houseguests
who glance at the garlic necklace
dangling from our headboard.
We look at each other
Like ordinary lovers
considering the colors
red and pink
as we go skipping by with gossamer caresses
That not even a vampire can see.
Their death invades us
with the evening news
and video games,
music that stifles thought and emotion.
They crawl across our bedsheets
and look for us,
But we are hiding in each other's arms
sealed up with a kiss.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2007
Explosive
Sweet secret cyanide,
I am looking for something
more volatile to replace you.
Narcissism, this is a warning:
If daisies sprout from my defamatory mouth,
do not be surprised.
Noxious fumes of rosehips
fill the air around me
A smile on every tree and toad I see.
Flipping on my love-colored glasses,
the world is painted in rainbows
and with his name
whispering to me
in the slightest breeze.
Sweet secret cyanide,
I will keep you for awhile
until your replacement is permanent
for I may require
one last vial.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2007
Sweet secret cyanide,
I am looking for something
more volatile to replace you.
Narcissism, this is a warning:
If daisies sprout from my defamatory mouth,
do not be surprised.
Noxious fumes of rosehips
fill the air around me
A smile on every tree and toad I see.
Flipping on my love-colored glasses,
the world is painted in rainbows
and with his name
whispering to me
in the slightest breeze.
Sweet secret cyanide,
I will keep you for awhile
until your replacement is permanent
for I may require
one last vial.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2007
Albuquerque
We walked along the railroad ties
that summer
Two little girls with our arms out
like airplanes.
We hopped over the crunchy grass;
She did so gracefully.
We stopped and stared at the sunflowers
her mother planted,
taller than some houses
Twisting to look at us
with their giant eyes in the summer sun.
We moved on
past the broken down greenhouse, chicken coop,
bits of old razor wire fencing
We saw a boxcar that read, in faded letters: SANTA FE
We peered in and got yelled at.
Quickly, we moved back to the house
that isn't theirs anymore.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2008
We walked along the railroad ties
that summer
Two little girls with our arms out
like airplanes.
We hopped over the crunchy grass;
She did so gracefully.
We stopped and stared at the sunflowers
her mother planted,
taller than some houses
Twisting to look at us
with their giant eyes in the summer sun.
We moved on
past the broken down greenhouse, chicken coop,
bits of old razor wire fencing
We saw a boxcar that read, in faded letters: SANTA FE
We peered in and got yelled at.
Quickly, we moved back to the house
that isn't theirs anymore.
Copyright Chryse Wymer 2008
