A Literary Assault on the American Mind.

What is the point? Write, Write, Write, Sleep, Write. I cringe at the light. I crave for the blade. That puts me in my shade. I want to know why. You left me on the dark side.

Rough words wear away like wood. As we turn to dust. This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.

Enter at Your Own Risk. 8211; November 29, 2016. , April 7, 1947. 8220;You somehow see,. Inside me, when I lay down,. No more silent treatment, I am scream.

Keeping sober one day at a time. However, as we all know, reality is tedious a lot of the time. Daily routine can be monotonous and tiresome. I sure have missed it. I too was, up until rece.

One of the very first poems I ever wrote, loosely based upon the near death of my younger sister whom almost died from meningitis, was read the last rites, but by nothing short of a miracle managed to pull through.