• art,  poetry


    Little thorn,rest awhile in my skin.Rest that I might remember the rose.Rest that I might grieve the summer gone;the summers that never were,and that will never be.

  • poetry

    Breathing Water

    Still, skipping through the watersof my subconsciouslike a stone.The pain intensifiesas does the ecstasy,and I am drowning-and I am breathingfor the first time.Pray, wake me from thisbeautiful nightmare.Please, leave me to dream.

  • poetry

    unknown gods

    I cried for her. For all those years she hid herselfamongst the whispersand the cobwebsin the dark atticof myimagination. For all those times she tried so hard to shine her lightin every placeit was sure to remain unnoticed. For all…

art of trauma