• light/creation


    It starts with a few cracks, some pops. Those shooting pains down your arms- don’t they feel like cords, tying you down? You want to run, but something inside compels you to stay. Somewhere far in the distance, a voice…

  • poetry


    I killed her again. Sacrificed her to the mystery. She ate the sun- burned to ash on the pyre. Next morning, she rose with me like some godforsaken phoenix.

art of trauma