October


It was a cold October morning the clear, wet rain was falling upon the earth. There was nothing better to do than sit before the fire and stare upon the deer head adjacent to the gold plaque above. I sat and waited for the arriving visitors. She was in the kitchen boiling water for tea and stacking biscuits.

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Published by: her mourning coffee

Walking a fine line between genius and insanity. My words are raw, sometimes visceral, and vulgar.  I write to settle my thoughts.  I have triggers that extract emotional immaturity, deep- rooted fears, anger, insecurity, vulnerability, yet I heal with every stroke of the pen.  I might be that monster.  I sometimes scare myself.  Please keep this in mind as you read.  I do not wish to provoke you, though stories need to be told. *not all posts are in real time

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