Stories

West: LET GO East: How about 𝘺𝘰𝘶 let go you mothe-

The soup comes soft-served, a soggy sort of sabulation used by sally who stops by every other sunday.

with a thousand shades of darkness that shone like Amber, an antique mirror spoke to me one hazy afternoon

i climbed the water tower in Meyerland at dawn while you were asleep

I feel the roots of depth enfold me. It's dark. "My wounds, don't leave me.." I scratch my skin in mania, dowsing in the taste of my own blood.

on a winter's day in the cold wind is when i climbed the tower of water and dove real deep

I'm holding cherries, but there's blood in these woods both hands clasped open, a handful of them, all red and full perfect doubles from stems untorn,