Writing is like unraveling a knot. It always seems to turn out that the twistiest jumbles are easiest to pick apart, while the simplest snarls morph into a recursion of stuck-fast loops in loops. To ... [+]
It's okay to rip flowers out
and to set fire to vines,
to pluck petals off without
counting to
...
[+]
then:
one day i'll be reborn.
into a skin that has never been touched by you,
into
...
[+]
She hated the way he walked.
She despised it.
Hands in pockets.
Shoulders slack.
Walking leisurely as if he didn't have a care in the world.
He had places to be.
She knew it.
He
...
[+]
The molten sun melts like liquid gold over the small town. Scattered
Homes with curtains pulled
...
[+]
She always stood beside me
But I never made a sound
Why stay with her, they say?
Why bothe
...
[+]
