Flowers alone (Draft?)

I didn’t want to know it
anymore.

Strange dreams.

I eat
the white hot moon
and the fuchsia
blood-eating all man

Doing a Service.

Darcy knew better than to play with time—it wasn’t cheap after all.

“SOME MORE TIME?” by Kunjal G.

The humble words of the wise
“Death is a prerequisite to life
“it will always arrive and once it does…”

Solitude’s simplest explanation.

just not to feel anything beyond me  in solitude’s Occam’s razor.

My reply, Lucy.

Originally posted on mtaggartwriter:
and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the storeand the women who…

Band Rehearsal Chronicles #1.

I lost myself in the music—I often did, just like when my guitar strap fell off while in the middle of a song we were playing once. I didn’t stop a beat as I got down on my knees to keep playing.

Dreamscape.

How fucked is that? She mused in her dreamscape.

“The Obsession” (Chapter 3 Via Kindle Vella).

Oktavia noticed the discomfort and cupped Mischa’s chin. “It is dead, darling. What is there to fear?”

She looked again at Oktavia. “So many things.”

Artificial (Draft).

pray to your artificial god,
my mania sulks

“A Visit from the Angel” by Nick Pipitone.

Shall forever be well,
Like Julian said
Centuries ago

“Memories, Never Mine” Published in Edge of Humanity Magazine.

My poem, “Memories, Never Mine” has been published in Edge of Humanity Magazine. My utmost thanks and gratitude to the editor Joelcy Kay for accepting my work.

Success.

“You’re the first of your kind—”

“My child” poem published in MasticadoresUSA.

I’m very excited to announce that my poem, “My child”, has been published at MasticadoresUSA.

Chapter Two of The Obsession.

She could barely remember the former king, but she knew enough modern history that the colonies dispersed before killing each other in a series of small wars. It was knowledge that felt natural to her. She was in enough battles, recalling in distant psychological experience, to warrant the existential solipsistic dread that when she held the sword, she was the only one that mattered in anyone’s eyes.

Including her father’s.

Love’s song.

I pull her free into the garden

Every word you say.

my death resigned
in her bedroom; a pharaoh’s whip on my heart, laughing

Mnemosyne.

I shun the cull of your words 
I stand at refraction/rejection.

Solicitude/Solitude (Final Draft).

I see the dead potatoes
of our graves. Gulping in your absence,
there is no agony or languor
beneath the worlds in darker glory to refract
from my mind, but of the word it is not mine

“The Obsession” (Chapter Two via Kindle Vella).

“Mischa, have I done something to upset you?”

Oktavia’s terrifying presence made her flit for the knife, before dropping it back down on the cutting board. “What?”

“There is some… type of vomit on the vegetable cutting board.”

“What are you—No, no, I just chopped up the carrots—over and over again.”