Red Dust by Ian BaileyMar 41 min readRed dustGathering in the orchestra pit between the strings and brassA little mound rumblesLike a townConceived by an opusI am of the townAnd bombs were upon usOur heads humOn the minuteLike clockwork, they burst Into a solemn sun
Red dustGathering in the orchestra pit between the strings and brassA little mound rumblesLike a townConceived by an opusI am of the townAnd bombs were upon usOur heads humOn the minuteLike clockwork, they burst Into a solemn sun
Wild Kids by Sofia Steinberg-CrespoThe kids were sat down and told what to think. Their colourful minds turned to black ink. They were told what to write. And told what to...
Who Knew by Sofia Steinberg-Crespoviolent content ahead: reader discretion advised Who knew I could be so scared of myself? I run from the shadow of who I was and yet it’s...
To Dawn by Ian BaileyThe PTSD, he Heads like a herald To dawn his new clothes In the iridescence Of a pit Edged into me Like a hook Caught in the gills Of a...