You hold the messenger of death hostage,
close to your chest, against your pale skin.
When there is a knock at the door,
you’ve the leverage to stop him coming in.
writing as a way of life
My ramblings poems and musings enjoy or not no pressure
The varied thoughts of a millennial modern linguist.
Talking about real things
Poetry and Poems
All that is me!
CRIME WRITER
Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate
A home for the stories and poems that got away.
I Kill My Own Spiders
character limited descriptions kind of give me anxiety
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.
Mocking Bird Down 
Reblogged this on georgeforfun.
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Reblogged this on Beasts of Articulation.
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