Writer, Editor, Strategic Communicator
You wear your remorse
Like a scarlet letter,
But with pompous embarrassment.
Your nonchalance goads you
Into a life you don’t deserve.
The poor creature who loves you,
Who says you light her soul on fire:
She hasn’t met you yet.
She’s made of tulle and tissue paper
While you’re a live wire,
A slow burn waiting to explode into fire.
Love Stories Half n Half Poem 26 Love Affair Lust Stories The Good Doctor The Ache Thank You for Being a Friend The Mourning Sun Sept. 28...
I can take a joke. I love comedy. In fact, I enjoy stand-up in a way that is probably pathological. But ... the energy of the last show I...
Oct. 22 // Part I I once, after I’d offered the idea, had a co-worker ponder hesitantly, “Happy hour on a Tuesday is a little aggressive,...
Comments