Creative non-fiction

Author Of Rhyme

I went to this place of guilt that made my insides rot, then built up a smell that came up from my belly and into my nose. I was a thing of rot; breaking apart, and building up a thick mold within; a carcass.

Fiction, Metaphor

Read Between The Lines

As a slim foretelling of light peered over the horizon, and as the grooves of the earth became visible for the first time, Truth came to be. Truth, the first of the storytellers, cast a long shadow; her only companion in the quiet existence where no language had yet formed. When there were no known… Continue reading Read Between The Lines