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They always said inspiration comes from the oddest of places. For me? It's the truest thing in the world.
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Short sequel to my first poem.
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Silver droplets poured from heaven, pattering gently as they hit the ground, splitting into many little droplets that rose and fell back to the unforgiving earth. 1
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Jack is a coyote who I'm in love with. A year ago, he was psychotic. Guess what got him out of his psychosis? Cannabis. That's right--t
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loneliness is a long way down1
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No, LordDeMarco, this is not real.
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Why is it that most girls seem to be obsessed only with finding ‘the perfect man’? Why is it that the ones who call themselves writers, at
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To my dearly beloved, who I lost many years ago.
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But if there's one thing I've learned from all of this? Don't let stupid things kill your hope. No matter how important.
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Little tid bits of thoughts..
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A true story from my life.
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“The icon hangs on the chapel wall,” said Sister Isis, “the pictured Christ stares with His haunted eyes. The eyes follow wherever I stand, my conscience bites at His every glance. I confess to Him on my daily visits, my word
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Sister Scholastica passed the salt to the nun beside her on the refectory table. Anticipation of the needs of others; charity in action; the nun nods and smiles. The roast beef succulent; the dark-brown gravy and mouth-wateri
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Tearing apart what use to be, watching the rain drops collide with the window, splashing, separating, being divided from what they use to be, falling from perfection, diving into destruction. I watch as they fall from heaven,
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Sister Scholastica entered the church; sat on one of the choir stalls gazing at the Crucified up above the altar. Incense lingered from mass earlier in morning, merging with the smell of old wood and damp stone. She rubbed he
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I have no say in what is gonna change,1
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Run away to a better place.1
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