Oh Brother, where art thou?
A certain wulfie asked me a question, and instead of answering him in P.M. I have chosen to do so publicly and in the form of a story post. This is something I can do due to the anonymous nature of the interwebs and my natural inclination to bottle...
I Do Not Fear A Season Without Hope
I do not fear a season without hope: Catastrophe upon catastrophe, When love is every day a little bit Made more a crime. When cruelty becomes The only virtue men know how to praise. When all but easy speeches are forbid To comfort cruel men. I...
The End
Sorry about the sad ending, i am in the process of writing one that is almost completely autobiographical emotionally, in which i will attempt to show at least some of what my wonderful wolf has done for me (it wont be completely autobiographical as i'm not
Naughty Trip: Part 1 - Knotty Trip
Since it is semi-autobiographical taken from the ages of 7 to 14 i have trouble keeping the cub's ages locked down. i apologize for that._** naughty trip: part 1 - knotty trip the trip to noxton from lakeland typically took a few days by car.
Maybe All Confessional Essays Should Be Written In Blank Verse
This started as a question, in my head. Why can I not write love a happy end? Why, when I try, must I write mourning, loss, Bereavement and the need for elegy? I write unto my husband, whom I love, And it becomes a prayer for his soul. I write...
The Glowing Chapter 2
**Chapter 2** Nerves are shaken, the bedrock or reality eroding away, a lifetime of nightmare conspire to invoke crippling anxiety. Austen runs down the street to the bus stop, past the burned down store. Briskly he follows the curb to distances...
Rest Less
#10 of poetry i urge you to remember that not all poems need be autobiographical. and that any heterosexuality implied herein is fictional, and any appearance of heterosexuality, living or dead, on the author's part is purely coincidental.
I Switch Off All The Lights
I switch off all the lights. Those that I love Are all abed, both in the other room And all across the city that I love. I see my way across the meagre room And to the too-tall curtains by the light Of thrift-store stained-glass lamp, by oven...
Eight Minutes and Forty Six Seconds on June Twelfth, Two Thousand Twenty
The rain continues. No thunder dares ring. No winds howl. All is silence, save the sound Of distant trucks down on the interstate. I tell myself, pretend it is the sea That all this rain, perhaps, will wash into. And I remain in silence. What must...
I Ask Myself How Is It I Have Come
I ask myself, how is it I have come, Still so far from the sunset of my days, (I pray tis not yet sunset on my days) Unto some chamber in the maze of life Where it is possible to hear you say 'I miss you' and 'I feel your absence in The...
Lingering Melancholy
Disclaimer this is -not- explicitly autobiographical, no need for the water-works, chums- it's just a series of thoughts. :3 onto the exposition arnie's tooth-pain has come down considerably.
Personal Introduction
I know that words alone can only convey so much, but my hope is that the semi-autobiographical short stories that follow will lend you understanding and, god willing, lead to a little heart-to-heart conversation.