It’s Sexy Time!

HEY! It’s not ALL weird tentacles and sassy aardvarks and Trump taking it in the ear, yanno. There’s also the Burn the World trilogy. Available now at the risk-free price of zero buckaroos. I’m all about the giving, sweeties.


This is erotica, friends. There are, at present count, two unplanned but very welcomed babies in the world thanks to my sex scenes.

Try’em, ya might like’em.

As always, packaged with a lovely, no-tell bookcover so if someone gets into your tablet/kindle/ipad, no eyebrows will be raised.

Of course, if you’re really in the mood for seeing Trump take it in the ear, sassy aardvarks, revenge gone wild, ghost stories, epic poetry, or anthropomorphic PETS, I got you covered.




The Edge

The edge is where you finally stop and think

do I care

or do I share?

Have I endured enough to share, and then endure the consequences?

Or do I care more for his reaction? For protecting him?

It builds and builds and builds, I care and care and care

I love him I love him I love him so much so hard but it hurts so much I’m on fire

I’m a slow burn inside out

I hold back and back and back

The Wave of Kunagawa is building behind my eyes my heart my fingers my temper

my paper thin temper

my filmy wet sodden temper

I am tired and cannot go further, the wave has crested and overtaken me

Kurosawa drives me and there are no brakes no airbags no barriers no soft landings

Waveof Korusawa

Hokusai overwhelms my heart and the rocket drives my mind and the flames fire under my fingertips and I explode and explode and explode and my feelings drip down down down all over the walls the door the window down down through the floorboards down down drip drip onto the tile on the first floor drip drip down each stair down into the basement

where my soul resides

in the sump hole

my soul collects the remnants of the results the reactions the consequences of my share.

I shared. There will be consequences. My soul will collect them with the others in the dank, dark underside of my home, of my body, of my life.

I love him but there will be consequences. There always are consequences. I chose to absorb them when I chose to share. I still wait for the fallout, the pushback, the aftershocks, the punishment.

Oh. There will be punishment for the share.


Thous shalt not feel without regard to how those feelings affect those who affected thoust (?) feelings.

I love him, but I shared, because I could not contain the wave, or it will explode my mind my heart my body my future my boys. I physically failed. My floodwalls failed. And I will absorb the flood, the earthquake, the runoff, the pollution, the consequences, which will contaminate the unknown.

I had to save my sanity, without it, I can’t save my boys. I had to save the known. Please understand. I’m sorry you feel bad.

The volcano erupted because I had to save the known. I love you. I love my boys more.


So, frankly

All my work is free. For now.

That’s not to say it hasn’t been edited within an inch of its life. It’s not crap. It’s not word vomit.

It’s “I have 2 jobs and 2 kids and I just want someone to read my stuff with an option to donate” free.

It’s “I just want eyeballs for Christmas” free.

It’s “Are you accepting new patients?” free.

Check it out. *CHEESE*

31 Short Horrors!

Darlings! 31 Short Horrors is COMPLETE and READY FOR YOUR EYEHOLES!

Get it for FREE for a limited time at Smashwords with coupon code KU45W

This collection is the result of three years of agony and ecstasy and all the laughs and tears in between. I really hope you check it out because I worked my bazoombas off to put it together for you. Honest to gawd, 31 complete works in one spot? For free?

I’m a giver, that’s what I do.

final cover

Save Me

Save me break me need me lead me

You cannot see my eyes

You cannot see my cries

You cannot see these ties


Love me take me beat me reap me

You will not hear more lies

You will not hear more cries

You will not hear us fly


Trust me hear me see me feel me

I cannot share my fears

I cannot share my jeers

I cannot map these final steps of we three buccaneers


My map is hidden from you

Too profound for you to dig


This plan I cannot give you

Can’t believe you will forgive


My mind the tornado

Coordinates are lost


Directions to and fro are only

Obtained at my long cost


These open grounds a fireplace

Gas stove open floor plan ours


But I can’t give it up because

To you, not real, but sour


I can’t give you myself, my own self

To thine own be true

I’m making progress but til I land

Edinburgh due

I cast my lot, my chance, my heart

To my dear love I’m true

But please hear me see me feel me

My own love, all us, for you.

copyright 2017 Shannon Cooper

ETA: I received a heap of derision and criticism on this piece when it was first published. In response, I deleted it. Then I thought, nah, fuck that, nobody gets to tell ME what and how I write. Anway. Hope you enjoyed that tiny backstory.

The Password is


up the path, words taken back, habits reattached.


up the scroll, heart on the toll, paid in full.


just an internet person, not a real person, not anymore.


a previous window, a former format, an erstwhile conversation.


Hope floated, mistakes gloated, egos bloated.


Just as far as hope.

Dip into the seafoam and try to trap the bubbles in the webbing of my thumb.


to be kind. to find time. to hold kind rewind