Poem: Not The Man You See

Not The Man You See Legs reddy brown from April sun April wind, and tangles of matted hair, he waits fr a train to somewhere warmer to walk and wander in sandals and shorts, everything and nothing round his waist and on his back. Another day passes with sneers not …

Poem: Remains

Remains It’s all embers now, all ash and breath and nothing else left. I mourn for memories I haven’t even lost as I fall to sleep in the growing grass little shoots making themselves known in the dirt and ruin at our feet, soon covered over and washed away waves …

Spring Has Returned

Spring Has Returned Frozen eyes, harsh breaths all disintegrate under your spell. I have shivers and shakes still under my skin and I’ve been waiting four long months to have you warm me from the inside out. I’ve never known how to welcome to you properly, I’ve been a little …

Poem: Appropriate Jealousy

When she’s kissed she’s alive, wanted and wanting and I am jealous. I am never alive not kissed, nor loved, not held. I am. This is all. Little comments that dig at my soul. Little kisses that inflate her ego. Rightly so. I am jealous. Right so. He is nothing. …

Fiction: Denial – Kara and Etta

Written for the Lost & Found: Valentine’s Edition blog hop. Kara doesn’t think it’s love. Not at first, not for a long time. She knows love. Knows how it feels – she’s sure of it. This doesn’t feel like that. She loves Etta, her parents, her brother Lewis but this …

Poetry: Pinpricks

Stars are pinpricks of heat and light that burn. We are desperate moths blind and lost, abandoned, Clear nights call to us, beckon us with a whisper, we can’t resist it the desperate pull. Stars are pinpricks of heat and light that burn, until we are turned away. Abandoned. r.l.w

Fiction: Watch The World Burn

The city burned easier than anyone expected. One the farm on the very edge of the outskirts, Andrew climbed out of the skylight in his room, clambering up the tiles to sit next to the chimney, feeling the lingering warmth from the families fire through the brick. From his vantage …

Poem: Broken Little Bluebell

Tick tock tick broken little bluebell lying at the bottom of the stairwell. Stems are cracked and leaves are torn broken little bluebell oh the bruises you adorn. Time passes slowly not to be found broken little bluebell don’t make a sound. Plucked from existence and dropped into the den …