A piece of typing paper with a dried coffee stain on its corner. Music blasting. Keys beating my skin black.
I am the mist.
Hands lent, Arms reaching,
Caressing your breathing.
In touch without touch,
Leaving no naked face unkissed.
By Paul David B
people come and go
as they please:
I'm their
fucking vacation home.
they take pieces of
my heart as souvenirs.
I'm an ageing child that is terrified that the world I grew up in has vanished completely. Why oh why?
A writer who wants to sing and perform, but am too afraid to sing out loud for everyone to hear.
30 lbs sarcasm
50 lbs determination
Equal parts optimism and cynicism
25 lbs humor
15 lbs ambition
100% raw honesty
I wear eight past lives
I drink the blood of enemies
I could be your worst nightmare or best fairytale
If you're ever in trouble, I am the woman you want on your side. I am the keeper of secrets.
I am the laughter children at sunrise.
I am the whispered words of a death bed promise as darkness falls.
A marching birth certificate marked with words that shout out, "Hey! You! No, not you. Yeah, you! Do you like tacos?"
