The Hug For the first time in their short acquaintance they were alone. His mother had stepped from the room only a few minutes before. And after an exchange of the general pleasantries, they stood in awkward silence. Though they were the same age ...

Broken Things In the winter light they sat tearing out paper from glossy magazines, rolling them into beads. It was the kind of random crafts project that these institutions were famous for. Supposedly therapeutic. Or so says the Crescent Mental H...

I am receding The edges of myself blurring Am I less of who I was before Or do I just hope that I am more? Impotent rage battles inertia of habit And all I can think is - Entropy Happens