My Poetry

Residency.

He will always be home. The smell of that apple-scented candle lingering through the vents of the house Shoes with muddy tongues lined up by the front door Red, hot stove burners alive on Sunday mornings Scratches and greasy fingerprints cluttering the worn porcelain bowls Battered pillows covered in drool and old make up Wrinkled… Continue reading Residency.

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Short Stories

Different Drugs.

He rolled over away from her, the thick and damp lint-invaded plaid fleece clinging to his naked, red, sweaty rolls. He liked to light a cigarette after their sessions to push the musty and personal smell of body parts out of the room. After the first anxious drag of the hot mesmerizing tobacco, his stomach… Continue reading Different Drugs.