Their moans and grunts slowly emerged out of the silence as their silhouettes started taking shape against the snow at their feet distinguishing themselves from the dark forest of which they came. … More Terror
The trash can knows more about you then any other furniture in your house. There’s a school trash can sitting right there in front of me, red and rectangular about the height of my knee caps or just beneath them with a transparent bag folding much too far over its edge like someone was in a hurry to ready it. I dear not speak ill of this trash can. … More The Devious Trash Can.
it was a way of defining herself. The girl that reads books. I like books. I like books. I like reading. I like writing. I like literature and I like words. But she was left to taste those words and though they still rolled off her tongue with ease it felt more like a habit to say so. Rather than a passionate admission of interest. … More We Need to talk.
“I wonder what you’re doing now,
I wonder where, I wonder how.
I wonder why and sometimes who,
spends their time along whit you” … More a Wonder.
Like any good art the question mark has a thousand faces. Meaning that it can be interpreted in a variety of ways to fit a variety of life situations but at base bottom it is at minimum always concerned with a sort of change from a position of confidence to a position of doubt or insecurity.
From this rather vague base any number of situations can fit it, but i am mainly going to argue for its base. Meaning the bare minimum that all things analogous to the poem has to have in order to be a good analogy. … More The Question Mark -Gevorg Emin
“she leans in towards me and grants me a single kiss before she slowly lays down on my chest like a leaf continuously crossing its own path slowly sailing downwards to the ground on the small breath of air left by the wind jet to be put to rest by the emptiness left at play.” … More Silver Girl
The road went on past the lake up the mountain following the land like vines coming down spreading through the valley, and the mist had pulled itself over the lake like a blanket making all things under it fade away. Looking across the water it was hard to imagine that this was some place real. … More Feed me Q
Self-consuming selfie. Yourself and the machine. Hiding in a picture. From the camera gleam. Stitching down the edges. Patching up a dream. Looking at the treading. Tracing every seam. Lies and cover photos. A life to which you stream. But such are only pictures. That lives in a machine. Excerpt from: How to make love(Click to read more like this); by Samuel Mork … More The Selfie is a Lie.
“The ravens gather in the mast and bend my hefty sails, as your eyes are drowning in the past the planks beneath me fail.” … More Sinking Boat