Coming at you with a quick update on the poetry book: I’m postponing the release until I have more time to edit/add poems to it because this semester was way more hectic than I thought. I found that I was rushing to get it done, and I didn’t want to release something poor quality to… Continue reading Poetry Book Update
The Creature You stand on your toes, stretch to reach the window and can only barely see through; a fine film of dust and grime cover the once transparent glass. You feel like a kid again, eavesdropping on your parents from the next room over. This time, though, fear is deeply rooted in your stomach… Continue reading Part Eleven: The Creature
Memory Film of Point Roberts Summer of ‘98 and the russet hatchback swings into a narrow, flower lined driveway. Poppies, lavender, chrysanthemums intertwine to create a marbled smudge, a watercolor painting. Further on the indigo, wind-blown log cabin perched upon a bluff blends in to the sky beyond, a two-dimensional backdrop, dangerous, a sharp… Continue reading Poem: Memory Film of Point Roberts
The Descent The weight of the silence wraps around you like snow on a street at midnight. It feels different than the rest, hollow, as though inside a vacuum. You breathe in and you breathe out, in and out in and out, rapid, laboured. You wait. Your chest is tight but quickly, silently, you make… Continue reading Part Ten: The Descent
The slammed door disrupts dust particles and cobwebs which dance across your face and into your nose. You almost sneeze, almost, but you hold it in. You stand there as the cloak of darkness and ever-present silence engulf you. You’re shaking, but only slightly, and the tabby presses close to you, silent as well. Your… Continue reading Part Nine: The Dark
The Entrance You walk up the cracked concrete steps towards the imposing, ink stained door. Unlike before, the tabby is close at your side, his tangerine fur grazing your jeans. He seems somber, subdued. Frightened. Does he know what lays beyond the door? Though it is august, the air has become decidedly cool, and you… Continue reading Part Eight: The Entrace
At 3 a.m. At 3 a.m., I am not alone in my room. Shadows from cars, or something more sinister, glide across my bedroom wall. Somewhere from deep within the house, a clock ticks, a slow, ominous, persistent sound, that warns me of time rolling on. At 3 a.m., something screeches, a jarring sound… Continue reading Poem: At 3 a.m.