The Lonely Room of Ruin

To be born, to be recklessly kept, and to be nobody’s – is the root of ruin. My ruin.

Memory, Misery, and The Manger

As Advent advances, I feel an increasing ache that only the maggots and the manager bring. It is an ache one long-held in ransom; one born in lonely exile; one exhausted by expectation.

The Anatomical Study of Abuse

Now that I am studying the anatomy of abuse, I run my fingers under the skin of slaughtered souls who are still alive.

I Wonder…

I wonder if anyone can speak?
If all lips are licked with lies.