chr66is > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

A meditation.

words are liquid, swirled about, i think them up, then pour them out, they flow to paper through my pen, then drain back to the well agai..

i don't know where our feelings went, i think of you as i lament, my sense of touch, or lack thereof, i've since lost touch with you, my..

For my baby.

A tale of perception.

Cogs rusted, pedals busted, Sedentary rut, Something needs to be adjusted, But I don’t know what. -CV

The sad phenomenon of aging in a Western culture.

There's seven of them, and they're deadly.

the dead float through my dreams, down windy streets of cracked pavement, heads hung low, occasional stares from empty, midnight eyes, frayed fr..

I walk on air, leaving tracks of thick, cloudy footprints, the remnants of a whimsical child’s teddy-bear or rabbit’s head, now scat..