Frail | ✓

❝You can't cling to the past. Because no matter how tightly you hold on, it's already gone.❞

Spilled Ink

A piece of soul in ink, and unto the paper it spilled. A collection of thoughts that rhyme from a wandering mind.

Prismatic Memories

"i. they tell me they 
cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them
that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. science. history. iv. but i want to speak. there are moments that fleet...

Edge of the Ravine

Between the ravine and the train tracks, I was thoroughly bound. Forever destined to run three miles in either direction and find one or the other waiting to hold me back. Keep me trapped. In a shallow bowl, I was kept safe and secure. With no one to hear my cries; no one to see the tears as they fell relentlessly dow...