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thousands of miles from where my name means something in a city where no one knows me— it still feels like home. not the warm kind. not the kind with open arms and someone waiting at the door. the quieter kind. the colder kind. the kind i’ve known for as long as i can remember. i’ve always known loneliness. it was never loud. just steady. like...

I awoke this morning in a warm room with hydrostatic thoughts diffusing with the early drip-tension of sunlight. Muscles sore, body slow, I maneuvered through some basic intuitive limbering, stretching the body to fill up the soul, heart, and mind. That was my intention; but then, I didn't really have an initial value for the day, for these chain...

do you feel it? as you walk slowly through the dark, in this fallen neglected labyrinth of the mind, where mold and filth fester upon crumbling walls, and rainwater seeps and falls like tears of the damned, this once great building now diseased and decaying, a parody of the minds once entombed within, can you hear the echoes of the screams? from...

You may not be able to see me, but that does not mean I am no longer here. You may not be able to touch me, but that does not mean I am gone forever. The physical world may know me to be dead, but I am, in truth, very much alive – more alive, in fact, than I have ever been, In ways that you do not understand. You think that I am unaware of how...

“After all we’ve been through, It can’t be over, you must keep going” One said as a partner grew Colder, with a contented smile of knowing He grabbed a hand and said “It’s okay for the journey to be over, That’s the best part, because That’s when you can start a new one, Rest a moment, then see what’s next” A tear fell, and words quivered “I...

On a wave above the Moon a crimson silence froths Makes you forget yourself and hurts when you can’t laugh For when you try to touch the Moon but glide a little past This silence is forever and rhymes ‘a broken heart’

They call her a voice of brown pain, But we’ve heard louder cries, from fields soaked in sacrifice, from mothers who buried sons, not metaphors. They sold us short, for lowercase lines and over-capitalized lies— as if formatting could mask the absence of truth. She speaks of lands she never walked, names wounds she never bore, calls for borders...