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!
EDGAR NOMINATED CRIME WRITER
I write because I must
I Kill My Own Spiders
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.