lingers the shadows within my darkemptiness closes in and I weeploneliness of being somehow I don't connecta failure in making the moment countlooking back I faintwith I wish, I wish I had tried harderleft with nothing but doubtso few...

As I settle in the chair  before my poetry book, It is only the calm before the storm, that is, the journal unopened,  the storm within hemorrhaging, the blizzard of words to be inked whirl in the lashing wind within my mind.  Begging to be channeled  to...

The pen I hold is my wand.With one motion of it,I create something hauntingly beautiful.Aching sorrows,juxtapositionedwith romance;darkly romantic.Script seasonedwith the Gothic, and the surreal.Dreamy and nostalgic.How is it so?Blending opposites,bridging themuntil they're sensical.My pen, my friend,knows more of my...