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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    She wears thick stockings and lace More days than not. Whispers To the willow trees, and records Their every wind-swept secret. Finds irony in the fact that she finds life, In the dying autumn leaves. She craves Empty moleskins and full coffee mugs in early morning. She writes, until the ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There are some things In this life, that we, Must walk into blindly, and Hope for the best. Some things—most things Cannot by taught in a classroom, Written nicely in a manual, Or outlined, even By the most careful hands. My parents once told me, that Raising me Was one of those thin...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Dear friend, This will be your final notification. Due to numerous breaches of contract, I must regretfully retract the following From our now mashed and mangled friendship: One, a card, Finished off with some form of inside joke scribbled on the back cover, Or perfectly worded sympathet...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Canvas covered, then erased. Art created, and destroyed. Guitar strings plucked in silence. Syllables formed, not understood. Words are written, never read. Thinking thoughts just 'cause we can. Feelings felt, emotion blinds. Love is sought, not ever kept. The faults of being human. M...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    An ode to the nights I’m on top of the word. The ones which coax me out of bitterness With tempting promises of change, of freedom. Where I can pull my mind from the darkness, And let it roam free, if only for a moment. Here’s to the nights my lungs fill with air, My insides no longer ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    She’d been putting it off for weeks now. Just closing the door and pretending the daunting task did not actually exist. She’d walk past the room and glance sideways towards it, always asking herself if she might be able to handle it today. No, maybe tomorrow, she whispered. Though on every tomor...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We grew peaches that year When she left us. Never has a harvest been better. Said she loved the smell of the orchard; Spent days lost in the fields; Hardly spoke but to the trees. Lips sealed and sewn shut By the time they bore their fruit. Done up with a neat little stitch. The kind Gran...

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