Charlie doesn't speak, so he paints.

My astonishment orchestrates a gasp in my lungs, glues a hand to my mouth as I stare surprised at the mess on the bedroom floor who still hasn't recovered, and through this all I can only shape one sentence that sums everything up pretty well, a sentence that pains me to say. "You're sick, Lucien." All my companion does is install a narrow tunnel into his eyes, a conviction like no other. "Isn't every writer?" All Allen Ginsberg needs is a library book on rhyme and meter, things he absolutely abhors for being so ever present yet things he requires for his blog article. What he finds is rather a young librarian and writer by the name of Lucien Carr, choking on cigarettes and booze and the glamorous life of deterioration -- and just like his writing, it's quite magnificent. ~~Wattpad Featured Book 19 September, 2016~~

I'm pretty extraordinary (read: absolutely normal) for an average guy named Patrick- Patrick Kraker, and before you ask, no, I do not want a cracker; neither does Polly. Polly's sick of crackers. a) My summer job may or may not involve spray painting myself completely silver and standing motionless in the park. Of course not. b) I also may or may not be investigating and communicating with a homeless guy who is (possibly): one, not actually homeless and two, part of a cult of (probably) bloodthirsty satanic worshippers. *** Copyright © 2015 by unfurled All rights reserved #34 Humour Featured as of 28/04/16

A collection of poetry found under lovers nails or stained against your pillow case - highest ranking - #3 poems - #9 in poetry - All rights reserved - © Ruby Smith @desp-erate 2014 Cover by @-grxnge