Moon Desert
Bio
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
Stories (948)
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Soul-Soaking
You can't judge it by appearance. Intrusive, inquisitive, elusive digging will liven things up. Sometimes it's just an arm in a sling. It has the quality of suffering felt so deeply that the entire soul is torn apart. And nothing can be done except a sympathetic nod.
By Moon Desert2 years ago in Fiction
Contemplary
They stretched out on the openwork mosaic chairs in front of the antique shop, like a wild rose on a strange tree or on a rusty fence nearby. They smoke cigarettes. They think, travel, traverse. But they never leave their chairs. They dream of visiting Queen St. Brew House on Saturday to join the crowd and be someone. But they are never among the other regulars roaring like lions, unleashing their instincts and making a difference only for themselves.
By Moon Desert2 years ago in Fiction
Scattwalk
Jumping through perpendicular heights. On the orange pyramids of Leigh High. Street. Always with one leg spread out. Arranged opposite. Bombed-out. Destinations scattered, each direction matters. Polarised steps. Entropy change. When running or crawling before or after. Fishing or swimming, drinking or drowning? The socks get soaked in the sand. You need to get used to the tingling sensation in your feet. Legs coated with purple welts. Pervading, perpetrating, protruding plague. Medusa stings. Defeminised mimosas due to prevailing winds. Balancing succulent, scrutinised, right words. It was never easy to hang high hopes on high ropes.
By Moon Desert2 years ago in Fiction
Misfit Love
We. Maladjusted souls. Maladjusted misfits meandering among the debris of a lost past world. We communicate, but words are only for show. Just for fun. To hide us under that thick, imperceptible veil of all the mistakes we've made over the years as we looked out at the deep blue waters and wondered.
By Moon Desert2 years ago in Fiction
