Category: Creative Writing

  • Little bits of writing turned into memes

  • Six word story – home invasion

  • Poetry – Money and greed

    Money and greed a want or a need? Days spent chasing dollars robs life of vibrant colors. Nights alone, awash in possessions imprisons the brain with lonely obsessions. A lifetime building physical wealth takes a toll on mental health.

  • Poetry – Minor bouts of mania

    minor bouts of mania fun guy get things done depressed sit in dark room give me whatever I want clean the house contact reach out talkative grocery store line love me they all love me bulldoze you all

  • Poetry – please let me go

    Please let me go please let me go let me flicker out of existence for a while Let this heart still let this mind be silenced let these feelings fade until I can bear to face them again.

  • Flash fiction – red roses

    Red roses. A sign of romantic interest, elegant sensuality, and passionate love. Yes, I have received red roses, but mine weren’t accompanied by affection, butterflies fluttering around my stomach, or flirtatious kisses and caresses. Mine came with feminine shame, a statement of sexual entitlement, and a paranoia I just can’t shake. I fear I see […]

  • Poetry – Is there meaning here?

    Is there meaning here? I stare into space oblivious to all but my own numbness, hoping for a call – a beckoning voice to draw me back from the edge of my self-imposed exile. Drop the feathery gauze from these old, battered lenses and push me if necessary out of the warm niche carved long […]

  • Flash Fiction – A Mother’s love

    Alone in her mother’s house, she wandered the silent, lifeless rooms, looking for remnants of something she knew she would never find, as it had never actually existed. Yet, she still searched diligently for some secret token, some magical whisper, some buried acknowledgement that what she had always foolishly longed for and sought out just […]

  • Flash fiction – Old man

    Her old man died. She’d never forget that day. Coming into the house after canning peaches all day in the shed, and finding him laid out on the carpet, a halo of red surrounding his head. She’d known he had guns – had often felt safer and protected knowing they were within reach – but […]

  • Poetry – Why do i

    Why do I often find you staring at the moon with such desperate attraction, only to turn your back towards its soft rays of beckoning light; allowing your frigid feet to stumble forward and embrace the subtle call of the darkness pervading all the shadows before you?