Confessions of A Troubled Writer

Hello. It’s been a while. Quite a while, actually. As per the title, welcome to my confession-session about being smacked in the face brutally hard with some good ol’ writer’s block. This is a surprising occurrence as I was certain all my new and exciting experiences abroad would surely open up the creative gates to…

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Bitter

maybe it’s the dark, acidic coffee I refuse to take any other way or the wind lashing at my exposed neck this autumnal morning it could be the disgusting cigarettes I smoke too much or the anxiety that shakes me I feel it coming like knots in my throat like frozen dark chocolate and there’s nothing…

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La Petite Mort

my lover is arcane for, he only speaks in tongues he breathes cold, cadaverous air to fill my empty lungs Latin chants over freshly turned earth he comes creeping in the night when not another soul is heard beneath a new moon sky and in the howling wind he quietly stalks aching to nourish his…

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