There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed – Hemingway. What do words mean to you? If words become something tangible from our minds onto a book or screen for an audience to enjoy, then perhaps there is no limit to writing. It’s purely subjective. Is there … Read more
Many nights, there are sonnets lingeringThey come to me when the dawn crawls beneath the horizonAnd dusk rises above the ground When I close my eyes, I can always see themDancing through the air in black and white Dressed in tulle and ballerina pumpsJasmine and lavender plaited into their hairMany nights, I hope that they … Read more
Winter rampaged their home and took residence in their hearts. The group spoke under the ebony sky. From warm bellies, what used to be unutterable thoughts ballooned into the room. The smoky vapours billowed between hurt mouths until it plummeted into the fireplace. That night, the group slept with their usual fiery energy, but a … Read more