there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
my heart has rooms that sigh filled with dust of disuse, of mis… Waking world
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...
The metaphorical heart Burnt in frozen grasp As the stale air, travels, labored far from memories, moments of horror caught
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...
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
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.
base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine
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
yes... a million times over, I sai… to him, to them to everyone, to no one I gave pieces of me Perhaps
it is a numbing a piercing of the proverbial heart with aching, dull shard a cold depth swallowing lungs contract, fluid-filled
The touch that spans length and difference I feel the distance that he holds captive in heart and… one reach, one touch
