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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read More...the moon a pale bone coagulating insomnia a thud of memories excommunicating nostalgiatrapped in a bottle of rum, suffocating meas I lay me down to sleep, whispering to genie
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read More"Bless his naive heart," she whispered into the darkness, a phrase as soft and sharp as a scalpel's edge. It was an old southern comfort meant to pity the foolish, but she had drained it of all warmth, leaving...
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read MoreI am the ghost of coffee stains and old pagesin books, the echo of frayed threads and knotsin the box of unfinished chapters. The ghostof the key that once fit the lock, now anapostrophe.
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read MoreThe twilight shown a new bag. As the sun bled its last, sickly light across the treeline. Its leather was the shade of dried blood, a color that deepened as the shadows crawled out to claim the earth. The...
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Thank you.
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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Read MoreThe silence of being you as if a song like fingers of rivers lacing together only the words I know toand the way you smileyour lips soft to bloom unspoken beyond the moona phantom touch of memorieslingering the scent...
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![Profile picture of RomaJ]()
This feels like a whispered reverie–intimate and weightless. I love how the imagery flows like “fingers of rivers,” and how “your lips soft to bloom” turns silence into something almost sacred.
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Thank you much.
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Don’t know if you’ve ever seen “Dead Man’s Gun” but tis makes us think of that series. This concept could be applied to a gun, purse, or a Lenovo filled with dark writings that new finders must live out. Tight