internet poetry
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He who has been stabbed leaves the gap open for necrosis. A pair of diving eyes minds it as they dance behind the yellow line. What irony, for the victim to play his own murderer. The train of thoughts leaves the station. “I tried to keep the knife away,” you still say; your hands grasp the handle.
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Our love Is like the coffee mugs Left unwashed in the sink After a night of warm conversation. Our love: it’s like a corner, Folded in a book; Jutting out, of a stack of old newspapers. No, our love is a corner, gathering dust. No, our love is the cul-de-sac In the lives we had
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I joined the site back in 2012 when I finally started posting my writing, no matter how good or bad online, and now, about 2 years exactly later, the website is shutting down. This website has been inextricably linked to many of my memories, both the good and the bad ones, over the past
ugly stage 