You spray painted a darkness around my heart It was in toxic shock It was traumatized It was an asphyxiation you were not my alchemist you were not my surgeon you were not my savior It chewed It clawed It climbed its way out of the prison where you held

January 13th

New goal. I will not post after midnight because someone sleepy is sloppy with her composition. I was horrified by grammatical errors and misspelled words. Short and sweet tonight, unless I am summoned by a demon~

My Mimosa

My sense of wonder was born on our walkabout that day of sins and summer things. She carried a brown paper bag in her right hand and in her left hand she clutched my right hand. I was her delight and she my sun. Everyone knew that I was hers

January 11th

My post was not polished. Not complete. Not pretty. Not meant to make anyone sad. It is something that has been in my heart for over a year. It is tragic. It happens too often and it needs to be talked about, even though it is uncomfortable…

Floor 8 haiku

the dark room held songs sad fluid instrumentals violent poems

Floor 8

I walked through the ornate lobby of the plush resort pretending I was not going where I was determined to go. Was I just playing a part? Was the trip up the elevator truly a pilgrimage of respect to honor the dead or just an art project? At that moment,

The Adventure?

Every birth, life and death is an adventure. The adventure begins pretty much the same way for every “body.” You marinade in a womb for mostly nine months. It’s iffy. Not everybody makes it out of the womb alive…for many reasons, but those that do slip, drop, get yanked or

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