Blue godess cry to compliance and guarantee the nightspot blues.

Brutal voice, I know No relief day, or night.

These old rings catch the light of the setting sun like the laughter lines on your face.

A sting of merciful fear opened the door of absence; the invasion of the new.

The vicious hiss of vicious words were amber and lithe, eagerly waiting another.

Beauty had her back to the mirror and left time at another century. Foreigner, to escape the mind, witness tranquility as a perfect stranger never to return.

Justice, the burglary of principles. Question the substance of the theft without locks of inquiry.

Know the Author.

It was about a year ago, almost to this very day that I stumbled upon this book. Battered and shoved between the crevices of a decaying wall, this book, along with two others, sat pinned between the cracks in the wall where no book belongs. So naturally, even though I was walking somewhere with friends, I stopped everything I was doing to rescue these lonesome orphaned books. It isn’t everyday you find books left for trash to bring home. ...

Day 30. The dip and dive of the hummingbird just protecting her young never reached beyond the honeysuckles, where she rested and never woke up. There she lays, the dewdrop queen quieted by butterfly kisses that couldn’t calm the hum of her heart even when the willow brush began to sway like the funeral waltz of a damaged widow’s brigade. This flower ringed beauty was bound by vine too jealous to let her wings keep going so they laid her low leaving her babies up too high even for heaven to bow down and embrace them. Without their mother, how will they survive? ...