Updated: May 25, 2023
My anger is a storm with an appetite.
She craves violence, and blood
as she threatens to tear me apart.
I might be the eye, but I can’t look away.
With blood red lips, she’s never hungry for long.
My poem, Buried Memories, that I posted here in the summer has been accepted for submission on spillwords! It can be viewed on their...
Translation Horace, Odes 1.5 /// Who is that scrawny boy, saturated in the fragrance of roses, that presses against you, Pyrrah,...
What makes a person bring home and keep the dying plants, the abandoned stuffed animals, the mug that's been dropped and glued back...
Comments