The Beauty of Bipolar Depression
Peel back my eyes and touch the still-healing wound oozing cerebral fluid from the Big Bang. It’s in this blind space of raw pain I often dwell.
Peel back my eyes and touch the still-healing wound oozing cerebral fluid from the Big Bang. It’s in this blind space of raw pain I often dwell.
“How does one with no boots pull himself up by his bootstraps?” “Why teach someone to fish then deny them access to the lake?”
I just read that the virus is mutating, anti-vaxxers are joining other unsavory elements to protest public health measures, the president doesn’t see the need for mass testing but is now getting tested daily...
I want to rest on the shore until the urchins break skin and the salt seeps in.
I notice my parents’ aging as I do my own: Not at all, then in a photo, all at once.
There are epochal battles blazing around the world, Blinding to those who look, shrapnel of noon-day sun In the concerned citizen’s eye.
I’ve been hearing Save the Rainforest since I was small enough to sleep in the safety of my parent’s bed or snuggled with stuffed animals— pandas, giraffes, monkeys, frogs;
This is where we come together, not before but after: The blood already drained, we refill it; we never lack for blood to give.
It doesn't matter who lit the flame that burned the Reichstag down, only that it burned and so few considered what cremation means to those who long for proper burial.
Imagine I told you that by switching your money from one investment vehicle to another—with the click of a button!—you could not only earn the same re