The Writing Wounded

I write of darkness that inhales my light. I pen rays of hope that drown in tides of tears I … More

Undead

I write to let my emotions slowly escape A drop or two of blood of heartbreak A sigh of a … More

His smile, quicksilver on a midnight sigh. Illuminating needs I thought had resigned. My skin heated in sin and savagery, … More

*I guess one cannot be a tempest without being a bit temperamental. I have times of rich darkness, sultry naughtiness, … More

Sin smells like leather, honeysuckle blossoms, cologne that lingers on hungry skin for hours. Sin tastes like strawberry juice on … More

The mist of my lust smothers the depth of breath of any others The wine of my wetness intoxicates the … More

I don’t know how to wait without withering. My petals close upon themselves in the mere motion of a minute, … More

Fake the smile that belittles the denial of silent rejections. Arrows flung without thought but with precise aim. Confidence pops … More

The older gentleman cleared the area and thanked concerned passers-by for their help. Quinn assisted Anna in sitting up slowly. … More

Two Days Later Monday afternoon found Anna sitting in her art studio, editing the last batch of images she had … More