Cold sends me to sleep.
Duvet traps a small sun here.
Sweat wakes me from cold.
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
We trade our minds for mirrors that are not our own. They glimmer with a false and tempting sea. When fear invites another voice to claim our own.
By Test3 months ago in Poets
patience pushing through provocation and pain with poise passively plastered on unperturbed faces papering over the cracks formed
By ali5 days ago in Poets
Devours choccie eggs, A chocolate smorgasbord, Stomach-ache ensues. * Thanks for reading.
By Grz Colm4 days ago in Poets
This story was originally published 2 years ago. In Memory of T.M. The ashes arrived in a beautiful hand-carved wooden box. When I saw it, it was displayed next to a little porcelain figurine of a mother and son elephant.
By Mezmur7 days ago in Confessions
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