Fiction
Treading The Fire
maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems
When You Grow Up
I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart
One
I can feel the evening sun, warm on my face, but the chill of the wind coaxes me to pull my coat tighter around me.
Home No More
I miss your coffee-covered breath, Early in the morning. It made me hungrier than death For a thrill without a warning. I miss your sweet
Destination Zero
It’s been 6 months, 13 days and 4 hours since I last weighed myself. I hid the scales in a plastic bag under some books
Cold Lights
Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.