a secret meeting gone awry a supposed cold room turned to a boil she was filled to the brim with bile
Ad Hoc Decay-Part 4
To crack open. Like the smile of an addict
Ad Hoc Decay-Part 3
Not sure if it was a dream or reality, self-distorted.
Ad Hoc Decay-Part 2
Like the smile of an addict browning since puberty yellowed by the wear Of service as an accessory,
Ad Hoc Decay-Part 1
Months ago I spilled coffee down the side of my car
I hate the sound of my voice
I hate the sound of my voice. Those inaudible contractions, anchored in the wet depth The fracture of bone.
Mind The Mess On Mondays 