Why Don’t You Write Anymore?

I feel like sometimes I have these stories floating inside me, like worms trapped in my stomach eating at my insides. Parasites resting in my brain between the grey-pink folds of me. Most of the time I barely care, like an old oak being strangled by ivy, I hardly notice the infestation. I engulf myself … Continue reading Why Don’t You Write Anymore?

Summer Day Sadnesses

Watching the world turn through a series of paint-marker windows, Of barely square houses, not homes, Drawn poorly and hung on the fridges of week-to-week mothers, With cashed checks strewn on the street, and fathers, all fucking deadbeat, Why do they always pack up and leave? Moments, passing in front of me. Houses all full … Continue reading Summer Day Sadnesses