koinoyokan > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Death is rarely graceful, wrote the man as the clock struck 3.

There once lived a boy. In a house made of glass.

There were scratches inside the oven

I don’t want to fall in love

Sometimes I wish I could read minds

I sleep beneath a cage of glass. A curiosity on display.

All that is left is this box.

Samantha was not one much for understanding the reasoning of adults.

What we once had is no more.

In my time I have taken to the habit of hanging out in graveyards.