Tag Archives: writing

Did you think it would be easy for me to watch you do this? I know we talked about it; I know you had your decisions to make, and that the world wasn’t going to let you off the hook. … Continue reading →

I could still taste you on my lips; it didn’t matter how much scotch I used to try and burn it away, and trust me, I’d been using a lot. I wondered about the night before last, and whether or … Continue reading →

There are days where all I can manage is pulling a bottle off the shelf, unscrewing the cap and drinking until a thick, impenetrable haze has wound itself around my eyes and knotted at the base of my skull. Sometimes … Continue reading →

People went to the field days every year, drawn by brightly coloured rides, games, inexpensive toys won at ridiculous costs, food that was terrible for you, but tasted too good to ignore. The smell of cotton candy, fried dough, candy … Continue reading →

When I drink tonight, I’m sure I’ll be tasting copper pennies at some point. Those belong on your eyes. Or maybe under your tongue. There are lines across the backs of my forearms. I put them there, with a thumbtack, … Continue reading →