Style

That marbled pathway

Who are we but bright flames that wane? Flesh alive and so here now, but can step away from these frames Far away the evening fragrance lingers Seeping into deeper woods Feeling is like morning weather With windchimes and little bells Rolling misty haze, kissing our feets Atop the marbled pathway Of a holy treasure

Moving on

I took something that I hated, loved it, then hated it again

Mayday notes

When feeling like digging deep into ground head down Stop all music In a quiet room, lay a different way Body distortion, body contortion Breathe, from tummy Earth yourself

Mr. Mock

It just came to me out of nowhere, but I think his name was Mr. Mock. He was the gym teacher who made elementary school ten times more fun, especially for extremely playful kids like myself. Why would anyone want to sit around, study, and get lost in messed up thoughts when you could be

Greasy pizza

We were little kids who sat in the school cafeteria during lunchtime. The cafeteria special that day, as it was every other day, was pizza. I used to think that pizza was a big deal, but the school pizza really, really sucked. I had a friend from Botswana next to me and a friend from

If it were up to me

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t smile. I wouldn’t talk much. I’d be sitting by the beach all day, writing, quenching thirst with juice in the other hand. Bare skinned and in a swimsuit, lounging and dipping into the smelting hot golden sand. Letting my skin bake into the brownest

Surely dying

I’m sitting here on the empty Jacuzzi staring at the ceiling with water droplets spritzing near my face, as I try to feel fulfilled. In my room, I spray all types of scents to calm my senses but it just numbs me down. I have every material thing that I want and I make a

Dark hallway mission

The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told

Noori

There’s a beautiful bird out in a forest. She flies her little wings up and down the hilly terrain near the glistening, cold Himalayas. They refer to her as Noori; this beautiful, colorful bird. On rare occasions they get a glimpse of her striking beauty. Yet always, they hear her tweeting her silly, sweet songs

Snow

Memories of snow in the summertime. Days of crying undercovers and hungering for a drop of sunlight. Gray clouds looming over the Midwest and suffocating our souls; causing it to turn gray too. The skin turns into an ash like color, making you forget who you are. Depression is the perfect word to describe the

Sky Milk