pennyarcade

I'm back motherfuckers. And soon a new poem that I have written will appear.....if only I can find it.

The Poet's Husband by Molly Giles

He sits in the front row, large, a large man with large hands and large ears, dry lips, fresh-cut hair, pink skin, clear eyes that don't blink, a nice man, calm, that's the impression he gives, a quiet man who knows how to listen; he is listening now as she sways on the stage in a short black dress...
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I'm the type of person that sees coincidences as a sign from somewhere, that someone is trying to tell me something. The problem with this is that I only notice the bad signs. My thoughts are my own voice of doom. You know when you walk by a streetlight and it goes out? This sends me into a state of panic. I always think that...
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Solatium
Comes the broken flower, comes the cheated maid.
-W.S. Gilbert-