Fiction
Empty Lines
[Ring, Ring, Ring] The telephone rings but I don’t want to answer On the other side is someone who I’m running away from [Ring, Ring,
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
Auto-crimes
She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin
Early Morning Ramblings of a Twenty-Something Girl
A dream of a 1920s quasi-candid shot of Debby Harry, mingling graciously among a grandiose Studio 54 scene. Spray the lens of my life with
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
The Solution
I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose