i only have sensibilities in sempiternal madness
Category: Prose
“lucys draco” by rog leach.
Dreamscape under his influence even the earth Trembles and quakes.
“Hid too well” poem published in Edge of Humanity Magazine.
I’m very happy to say that my poem, “Hid too well” has been published in Edge of Humanity.
Lamplight falls.
I had the same hope Sylvia Plath did, at one point, in her journal—she didn’t want to die.
Chapter Three of The Obsession.
"But, you're neglecting to tell me everything. I know that, Mischa. What have you been hiding from me?" She looked almost sad as she put their dishes in the sink. 'Your memories, Oktavia. That's what I'm hiding.' "Mischa? Where are you going? Don't walk away from me."
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.
Check out this incredible poem by Matt. It was a response to a comment I left on one of his pieces, and I really enjoyed reading it.
and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the store
and the women who sit in their cars, windows nearly closed, smoke
everywhere and they see me looking at you, in my phone, while I’m
none of them and also everything they are and here we all sit
Wondering about how the soft shuffling of a heavy foot can make
it to the entrance of the store, one with a door that opens for them,
knowing they are hurt. And maybe think about their death.
I see in them what they hate about themselves and I feel.
-M. Taggart
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.
Pseudopsychosis. 