We are saturated in our consolation of a rotary picture which continuously retells itself . . .
Are we drifting forward or is the illusion merely reoccurrences of our ancestors?
Clouted in coldness, d...
does the word selfishness suffice
for the ego you harbor,
all in effort to blame my mother,
who has stripped the bones on her back to replenish
her children who have cried to the walls at nigh...
Obsession belonging in my fingertips
choking in my lungs;
the air is filthy
take short breaths, (why can't the air be cleaned?)
to the front of my mind -
dancing in my ...
I find courage,
In the iris-like wilting of my fingertips... In the way my breath sways warm
like the lake's breeze
In a sweetened youth’s hair... In the irregular wallop of my heart,
dawdling, yet re...
It fires in the vacancy of my stomach,
beginning like an unexpected blow . . . then creeping like an illness to sit on my chest – prickling at my shoulders.
It prowls upwards and downwards,
leaving a ...
I spread the tips of my fingers against the smooth wood of my table- elongated so there’s enough room in the center for a bouquet of roses.
I never thought I’d be given roses; a traditional statement....