the guilt in which it puts me in its voice echoes a child’s lullaby points me deeper in the woods,… Read more Poetry | Imitation of the Other
Tag: The Lefthanded Project
Poetry | Wolf Cryer
On the hardwood floor you were A sharp riddle unsolved I snapped a picture Crucified, on the walls of my… Read more Poetry | Wolf Cryer
Poetry | Waters
In the waters of river, a pair of eyes surfaced, all together dreaming, yearning, angry and loving, it looked me… Read more Poetry | Waters
2/_8
Could you tell truth from a lie if I said you are the greatest piece of art humanity ever created?… Read more 2/_8
Poetry | Have I Found My Muse?
have I found my Muse? on that mid-day of march where the chaos of the city met the calm of… Read more Poetry | Have I Found My Muse?
Poetry | AHB//JCM
There’s a marriage between a ‘goer and an art in a museum. Unseen, inaudible, heaving with dust in the air.… Read more Poetry | AHB//JCM
Short Fiction | Bigfoot Illusion
I heard (or read – I can’t remember) that even after we die, our hair and fingernails grow a few… Read more Short Fiction | Bigfoot Illusion
Blog | Meme World
I saw these memes on Facebook yesterday. I thought they were clever and funny. Then I realized it’s fucked up… Read more Blog | Meme World
Journal | One Morning in January
On the morning of January 29, 2019, I didn’t notice I forgot to set my alarm the night before until… Read more Journal | One Morning in January
Poetry | Strangers
Only when I step back and look at the entire picture of the puzzle pieces I clipped into place did… Read more Poetry | Strangers
Blog | The Media
The “media” works like our parents when we were young. They dictate what we should eat. They tell us what… Read more Blog | The Media
Blog | I got me a tattoo!
Blog | What’s good, 2019?
The past three months have been a whirlwind of adjustments and yearnings and adrenaline. For almost half a year I… Read more Blog | What’s good, 2019?
Journal | How To Make Sense Of Death?
I always find death fascinating. I’m not sure why. But the concept of people drawing their last breath — consciousness… Read more Journal | How To Make Sense Of Death?
Poetry | In The Morning
In the morning I awoke from the chills the sheets tangled around my knees beside me an empty space and… Read more Poetry | In The Morning