It is seven in the morning, and everything is falling apart. She sits at the glass table and examines her feet through the floor, coffee cup in hand, slowly circling the remnants of the morning through her mind as they swill before her back and forth. Her hands don’t...
She looks out the window to cold hard skies that scrape the ceiling of the world and fade into the early morning. The fog has dusted over and everything seems shrouded in a wetness that chills you to the bone but when she sticks her hand out to feel the rain there is...
Maybe there was a point once upon a time Maybe we could have had our own story But there was a moment Where we sort of just took this other road Turned this weird and random direction And Even if we ever got back to the tracks There would still be Mud On our shoes. ...
There is a man who works in the post office And everyone feels sorry for him He is old And slumps in his chair But he always smiled at everyone He hands them their mail And says have a good day And he’ll help you with the package If you made a mistake I often wonder...
I pull. In and out of it and wrap myself in the thunder that surrounds it.There is no safe space here, in the dark where the lights go low and the shadows come up and the answer is always no. Have there been others? That traipsed this path with feet covered in sand...
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