Who am I now
reading through
old words
thoughts
and memories
The self
cannot see
the reflection
in the mirror
Does the self
now feast
on human blood
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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▼
2022
(201)
-
▼
February
(19)
- Humans
- Bodies of Water
- Checking In
- Compilation
- Good Morning
- The Worry You Carry
- enough
- Reprieve
- Oh how I miss youOh how I miss you
- Continental Divide
- Change, My Darling. Change.
- The Writer of Average Skill and Intelligence
- The Professors
- The Obsession
- The Weight
- Tenderness
- I, Vampire
- For Maggie
- Temporal
-
▼
February
(19)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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