Tiny Stories

Mortar and pestle My Friday night ritual I've been crushing on you for years Dressed up in your latex suit The red light gl...

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head I told myself that I'm happy alone Then dreamt of limbs wrapped together in bed Thus when...

Crop A crop has grown within my brain The harvest of a neural strain It bears the rotting of our faith I pluck the fruit to fill...

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again Alcohol, Seed of my father Morayshire Sewn with barley and the Wrecks of drunken drivers Loneli...

Without a sigh, or mournful speech, you left me drowning, pickled with sweetest drink, fallen, wheezing evaporating breath. I'm fa...