Saturnalia Writing

Tell me how to save you so I can remove the blade from your skin.

The eyes are windows to the soul.

This is what being accused of murder can do to you.

The strong smell of smoke. The fire alarms sounding. Hair burnt by flat iron.

The price of living in a tree.

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Know That I Too
We are never alone (a poem for mental health month)

The song we sing when a love dies.

When fear of losing love causes you to cling to hate, the only thing you have left is a fragile rope.

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