He speaks with a purpose that dema… with soft, soliloquy of word to sh… the emulsification, the blood of b… and women carrying the weight of m… Storyteller. Anthropologist.
all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same
his exit, his entrance stars in solemn shades countdown in pink orbs we, burning out suns commencing solitude
She walked the raised concrete streets, built from the backs of someone whom she didn’t know. She walked the raised concrete streets, surrounded by creatures of origin. The rain cascade...
She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated
eyes awaken, asleep. I dream the taste of purple I dream the touch of you. I dream of tall grass fields on my… shuddering in magnificent breath.
it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled
it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...
there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
I list their names on my heart Count them... ad nauseum, infinity… They, who sew my shroud. I list their names on my heart They, who released it
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
The metaphorical heart Burnt in frozen grasp As the stale air, travels, labored far from memories, moments of horror caught
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
