I bowed down to the demonOne too many timesWhat little soul I have leftseeps into the dead earth Blood trails of hopegathered in a shot glassto taint and warp Beauty is the deceiverand I love to be lied toStaring off into...

Isn't it funny when you're younger, and people tell you that the moon has a way of reminding you of the past? Sitting here on this window sill I can't help thinking about Devin. How, in one night, I...

Resting restlessly within the dark of its sheath,my poetic knife feels expressionless.When so, it wants to be drawnand plundered into the white of the page.Then it wants to cut through the emptinessand carve out beautiful metaphors.The blade will glint...