I swallow a dead butterfly
and prefer tokiss decayed summer
than bloomy spring
no pain no salvation
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Diana and writers in Poets and other communities.
In the northern part of Italy, From orange trees blooming to apricot trees bearing fruit, When the clock strikes nine and the sun awakens,
By Diana3 years ago in Poets
I held it in my hands Tightly squeezing my grip so it would not get out I could feel it struggle as the light that fed it disappeared
By G. A. Boteroa day ago in Poets
We used to say, “I disagree” And still we would be friends Try that today, I guarantee That friendship likely ends There was a time if people fought
By Earl W. Pearl2 days ago in Poets
“Caroline, Zach! Dinner’s ready!” my mother called up the stairs. I marched down and took my place at the table. “Wash your hands, dear,” my mother said.
By Bride of Sound2 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.