Narrative, Poetry, Short Story/Prose

the lock

you promised to meet me here, by the pier, alongside the dying trees, and across the dancing leaves that drift off the ledge, and plunge with a whistle and scream. elated, i waited: may he be tender, may he be sweet, may the young man come to me, and sweep me off my feet. daunted… Continue reading the lock

Narrative, otherworldly, Poetry


I am solid yet also transparent. a goddess born free from mortal desires, i drip with godliness and i am sustained by your adoration. I am the wind that tastes like stars, I am the crushed rose petals That stain your skin like ashes, I am the voice plaguing your thoughts Like an ocean without… Continue reading goddess

Narrative, Poetry, Thoughtful

A blip in time

I stretched my neck until it protested and creaked, the cars slipping and honking by As I teetered from a perch up way high. The silhouette of bodies entwined caught my eye as I hesitated–paused before I dived. An androgynous blob embracing under the moonlight, their shadows vague and disconcerting reflected in the bleak river… Continue reading A blip in time

Narrative, Thoughtful

You Should Have Known

Raw emotions- An open, gushing, oozing wound. Peeling back reluctant skin, The dam breaks as a warm, Flood of gushing bright crimson- Tinged with a metallic and salty taste, Perfumes the air with spritz of despair. All because of you, A wise fool, too observant for my tastes, Who ignores the warnings, That flash "Do… Continue reading You Should Have Known


Fading Youth

Youth is like a plucked rose– loved with avarice eyes and guarded in a well-lit shell that decomposes with the stench of capricious fertilizer. She is pretentiously trimmed and tailored, fashioned in a glass vase, voluptuous shapes, undulating in throes of desire (a gift from snobby Sarah from Westchestor! ) Fiji water tepid, seventy-five degrees of adulterated dampness. Under the artificial,… Continue reading Fading Youth

Narrative, Short Story/Prose, Thoughtful

A Killer Who Became A Farmer

A man with distant and cold eyes once told me that he wanted to become a farmer.... I had asked, "If you could live a life bereft of responsibilities and money were no object, who would you want to be?" He said, "A farmer." "A farmer!" I responded confused. "Does that sound so impossible that… Continue reading A Killer Who Became A Farmer