**Gone was my beloved muse, the puppet I tried to play, and the one I tried to love. But love is not love when you’re loving an image not the person. I am, at bottom, an obsessive spoiled brat, who believed every color, every word, every coincidence, to be a symbol that we were meant to be. I told myself I was letting go of my inhibitions, but why did I find myself contorting my identity, just so ...

It is simultaneously the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end, a paradox is not a paradox, it makes perfect sense!

Words are like mazes, complicated and extremely hard to go navigate. It can conceal or reveal its master’s tongue, or reside inside the deepest pits of their mind. What is the purpose for language? Can’t our actions just speak for us?

Light is attributed to day, while ...

Yielded to your whims

Now my flesh is bondaged to you

Lock me in with your

Sweet embrace, and sing me a

Song like birds in the morning…...

Eliah’s bones struggle to carry the weight of her skinny frame, no longer can she hide the perversity of her flesh. “I am brittle and bruised…. My luck has never been this bad! Oh mother please! If I am to die, I’d rather it’d be from exhaustion not as tribute!” Eliah soliloquies herself, to a crowd of attic mice and cockroaches. She can barely curl up in the corner she’s at, much less be chosen t...