Hills will tell you that you hate running, but hills lie.

Poetry centering around the Human condition. You lay awake at night. Trying to picture your life. Image is still not clear. The sound of broken promises. Is all you can hear. Stealing all that I write. The writings on the wall. All of us trying to take a bow.

Sunday, March 9, 2014. She left him money, not much. First he split the money. His mom, too,. Why a recliner I asked him. Every time I sit,. As if she were a huge. Monday, February 24, 2014. Felt the color of revolt. Wednesday, February 12, 2014.

Gone is the girl in her teenage. Gone is the girl moving from a heartbreak! This year presents you a girl,. Fighting an uphill battle,. And coping with tumultuary crowd of thoughts,. Which keep restricting her from taking steps ahead,. Wishing for the positive to cross her paths. Learn to not be invaded by insecurities,. To have some level of faith in what she is! And t.

Caffeine, music and twisted german biscuits. TIME FOR one last cup. I still dream of coffee. I still dream of dipping my fingers in eddies of swirling froth and suffer the distant warmth fading with the passing of time. The Scent of Cinnamon and Coffee on My Hair.

On October 4, 2016. I do not know how long we wrestled like that. Back and forth, but I was dripping wet and begging. I knew he liked it because his moans were coming closer and closer together.

A Picture is worth a thousand words. I can show you way better than I can explain. So please allow me to share. Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Morbid Beauty by Sam Briggs. I fought like hell to hold impulse at bay. Survival and predatory instincts vying the dregs of humanity that had survived the. Blood-thirsty villagers circling and spewing odious epithets that have indicted my kind for centuries. Sounds of hearts pumping blood through hateful veins sang to a distressed mind.