The morning after she left reminded me of the pulled petals off a rose – still beautiful, but not complete. I sat in my own tears, afraid to wake up>>>

I sometimes imagine I could speak to my inner child; I mean really speak to her. I’d ask her about all of the twists and turns in life that made>>>

I feel a pit inside myselfI know that it is fearThings are going too good by farI feel the end draws near My happiness is not a jokeIt’s>>>

The wind blasts Brian’s face and bites through his hoodie. South Texas rarely gets cold, but today looms rare indeed. Home lingers twenty minutes>>>

I’ve left an aftertaste of illness lingering inside my mind, for quite some time now. As the months keep slipping away>>>

She woke up and to her despair realized that she was still dead. It had been three weeks since she had arrived in Heaven.It had happened so fast.Drew>>>

There were days when passion became confused with convenience. When your hands could skim the surface of my skin and wipe away the doubt>>>

I carry my pages up the mountain. Not the ones clean enough to be seen. I carry the torn pages, ripped and crumpled by frustrations, marred by tears>>>

In December of 2013, I made a clear decision that life is far too short for not doing what you dream to do. For me it was writing>>>

I think I began hallucinating as a way to find you again. In the dark, the heavy shadows would blend in such a way that I could believe you hunkered>>>