A site for my creative writing endeavors, writing prompt responses, and experimentation. Asymp; Leave a comment. A silhouette, not quite human. Treated, like an animal. A shadow, not a man. Nothing to stop the bloodshed, not bible or quran. Sirens wail, the shadows do the same. Shots ring out, a man fills an urn. Black tears, fall like water. Black lives matter, or not, lambs to a slaughter.

Enter your email address to receive notifications of new Hues by email. A piece of self that brought peace! The sculptor and the sculpted. எனக க ம தர வ ய ஓர டம? October 2, 2016. ச ற ய ல .

The things I want to tell myself. To play a jest on us. And the drift of snow hills. Sharing a gallon of tolerance. And an ounce of chit-chat. May your darkness be illuminated.

Weaving together strands of covered bruises, stitched lacerations, naked scrapes and permanent scars, with silken fantasies, woollen potboilers and fustian anecdotes. You Are Not a Survivor. A Paradox of Emotion and Rhythm. When Should I Stop? On Days When it Seems Impossible to Pick Myself Up Again.

Stories and ways to tell them are infinite. Elle écarta le bras de Fawn pour se redresser, le cœur battant.

The one that comes from my heart. I may even brush your arm or squeeze your hand. The mind of a writer. Never have truer words been put to paper.