Fayth

My Stories

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My Poetry

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  • And the air grows stale from aborted apologies.
    It’s kind of funny how we think we’re grown up.
    100 words, 2 comments, May 23, 2006. In 18, 11, 4
  • Violent violet-streaked
    acrylic smears of absolution
    <100 words, 1 comment, May 23, 2006. In 0, 22, 6
  • The scent of stale popcorn and
    deep-fried pork parts wafts like smoke
    100 words, 4 comments, May 9, 2006. In 0, 0, 10

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