She played the piano every single day, but she never imagined someone might be hearing
I want the clock's hand in a spiderweb
Home doesn't necessarily always have to be a place.
Grapefruit sky at 7:44... I’m alive with Viracochas lightning
Another tiny bunch of words pulled from the vault.
Can you tell what the ‘jars in place of heads’ contain?
Tell me which one is your favorite.
The story of The Woods continues. Thirty years later the old abandoned Bennett House is up for sale.
Is your life really what you wanted it to be?
At the end of it all, I have the body of an old house.
A poem about the truest part of a person, below all their facades.
Sort of long, but a poem about emotional abuse and the effects of it. Feedback is appreciated!
About the risks of opening up.
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