poetry & short stories
She laughs fragile like a teacup- filled only with the vastness of midnight. Speaks like the sound a candle makes just before it dies.
By Blue Fences 10 months ago in Poets
Can anyone stay? Do I constantly want to constantly want - to crave the shape of something slipping away? prone to capture the idea tighter than the thing itself?
It seems he only finds himself talking to God when his phone rings. Almost as if he hears the trumpets blow. Or maybe the church bell ring. Sounds a bit different but… results in the same thing.
By Blue Fences 2 years ago in Art
