Chiki Chiki Slim Shady. Okay for real though. It's a collection of short stories. Or should I say introductions. Let's go with that. Come meet these wonderful people renting out some space in my head. Got some tenants living in there now, some coming to the party later but there's a whole little community brewing in the streets of Winterfell. Sounded cooler with that ending. I like that. What do you think?…
I'm running out of explanations here. I'm winging it. I'm always winging it. The title just felt right and damn, here we are. It's poetry so if it's not your thing, you might like it. Occasionally, it may be a little prose, depending on the feeling but we'll try to keep it consistent. Does anyone ever even read these things? Ok it's about a boy, a lonely boy. Sometimes he feels like he's a thousand leagues under the sea. Other times, it's like he's been severed from reality. Whatever that means. This boy, just wants the world to understand him. But it has no obligation to. So he's stuck on the outskirts of everything and everything else hoping for some sense of clarity. It never comes. It never will. This is a documentation, of his never ending pursuit. That was decent, right? I do love letters, letter letters, confessions, police statements on the side, in case you need them. Basically, I'll handle the ever living heaven out of your writing needs. The sick part, is that it's free so feel free.. to blast the message board and I'll take the time I usually use to do something constructive and meaningful to tend to your requests. Read well, friends.…
A well curated collection of disasters.…
The title is not my idea but it encapsulates what some misguided soul thinks of me. I intend to milk it for all it's worth. Milk it? Paints a weird image for me considering my distaste for the stuff. This! is a collection of poetry. The flavours will vary so mind your step. It's about a boy with a flair for the dramatic, struggling with a flower allergy. And yes, he does work in a flower shop that sells scented roses to unsuspecting two year olds. Point is, there is no sense to be made, but all the fun to be had.…
Exploring the intensity of duality through poetry, life, death and everything in between.…
Poetry in its rawest form…
Well, it's art. The eyes do the speaking so.. let's talk.…
Poetry down to the heart and soul.. heart and soul…
Poetry as it is to me.Comments or thoughts are all welcome and please vote if you like it…