MELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK ON AMAZON UNDER 'MELANCHOLIC MUSE' BY MAY GARNER This melancholy drips from my fingertips so slowly, you begin to forget I even exist. All of me, the hard parts of flesh you could never seem to love, drips down the drain. I am waiting for the day for your fingers to unscrew the pipes, dig through debris and mess, scrape your heart against the rust, just to find me, so we can go through it all over again. Here, in the pages I find myself, in the ink that writes against my flesh, I will whisper the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all of the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists.    First poetry collection in the series. Original poems based off real life experiences. #12 in poetry. Cover template made by @KaleidoGraphix on Canva. 𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 copyright © May Garner. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

You die. Game over? Not quite. Welcome to the Afterlife Crucible. Every millennium, lost souls battle for a second shot at life. Forget everything you thought you knew about the afterlife. It's not pearly gates and harps - it's a ruthless gauntlet dreamed up by bored gods with a sick sense of humour. Your regrets become weapons, your sins are armour, and your secrets? Just ammo for your rivals. This is a no-holds-barred war where only the most devious spirits get to breathe again. You'll face nightmares that make Hell look like Disneyland, and opponents who'd sell their own mothers for a chance to win. Ready to fight for your life... after death? I sure as hell wasn't. There I was, barely keeping my head above water, when some prick decided to punch my ticket early. But let's face it - my chances of winning are slimmer than my ex's conscience. Who am I? Jane Doe. Just another dead girl in a sea of corpses... a junkie, a fuckup, a waste of oxygen. Or so I thought...