Poetry,
I forget sometimes that it’s like poking the dead with a stick and expecting a response surprised at the silence and other times, oh the words, what noisy little ghosts they are Debbie Berk 4/12/2016
The Devouring
Trapped in this dark space soul lost to an even darker fate and time moves like a slow curse in the belly of the ever ravenous worm the watchful predator with a devoted kind of sickness, mad and twisted like love stalking its prey, waiting in the silent shadows to collect what is owed, eager…
