Writing is the painting of the Voice


You just gotta read…


How free are you? What would you do if you could be more free? Allow me to change your perspective and highlight the danger of the idea of freedom.

Write me Tonight…

Rouse the dust your absence has lain
About my rusty old self
A mountain of wax burnt out on itself
Blow your vain anguish upon me
Shake my fallen wick


No coverage, not even one bar, the battery was dead anyway. It was still daytime, but there was an overcast and the sky had a perfectly even dullness, so there was no way to tell which time of the day it was, much less which direction was north or south or anything else for thatContinue reading “THE CHOICE”


Home for me is the smell wet ground, dirt pooling outside as the rain falls on the sheets like a thousand bare feet above. Home for me is the hint of the blooming queen of the night. And towering mango and pawpaw trees above. Whistling to the tune of the wind. Home is the distinct tapping on the door that declares dad is home.


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