The 🪵 Pile


What are you curious about?

His voice had changed. My imagination, the darkness swirls in my subconscious. I hear it via a news clip. Repeat the narrative, an educated lesson.

FF, this instance, he sloughed in a meek and shattered frame. I carried the splintered slab to the woodbin, the echo repercusses steel.

I wake.

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Published by: hermourningcoffee

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 and deep-rooted trauma, fear, anger, insecurity, and vulnerability. I heal with every stroke of the pen. Night Falls, I fear myself. I AM the monster underneath my bed. I do not wish to provoke you.  As you venture into my headspace, you ARE a willing participant. Disclaimer: 40/60 IRT

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