I want my ink to be deep and wide that my words should look sure and unmovable, rather than a thin scrabbled mess meant for temporary notes and reminder. Perhaps then I'll have more say more control over what I write and how it moves my world. Perhaps, then, I'll adore those thick inky strokes … Continue reading Deeper Ink
Swallow the cap of bleach and hide the poison you take every day so you can afford to kill yourself. Evict the yellow blood. Make salvation tenderly, then sit it in the corner in a dirty onsie, while you fill your home with hellfire money and sickness. Drink deep of pleasure whenever you want, pretend … Continue reading Wicked
Drag my brain along the ground, so the moisture collects crap. Then tell me to pat it off and clean without my brain around.
A man from India lied to my ear, frankly, to siphon from me American cash for his hard worked living. "Scam," they say in the spirit of the Victorian age, unable to just say "Theif." Cut the connection. Slice the red line. No one safe from the curse of the land. And all their gold … Continue reading Identity Theif
"Things of the world," my Mama says. I remember her singing rock songs of the poor thumping her hand on the roof of my grandma's mini-van, and sipping a refil of Pepsi. "If I can't afford a pop, only then will I be destitute," my Mama says. I remember her bringing a bag of discount … Continue reading Mama’s Words on Being Cheap
Author T.S. Lowe 