john alan willox > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

once outside a funeral home i saw two women dressed in black; one was sobbing, one looked serene. i never could decide ..

there’s an empty sign on this highway. a billboard without message, just framework and structure of vacant communication. ..

the air is full with the scent of worms and fat birds swooping through the after-rain. a thick, hearty breakfast, childre..

i may never hear the words “i love you” from another woman. perhaps i’ve used my quota. perhaps i don&rsq..

when i return, i wish to be the tear that falls upon the page, as you read the story of my love for you. when i return, i wish..

i’ve never known her name, i think she lives on lowther street, that’s where the bus stops. her hair is short, black and ..

in darkness remains the shadow of the broken man. avoiding light less shards of sun will open the wounds and bleed his l..

i need a transplant, my body is rejecting me. i met a yesterday man, who said, “i can’t decide on dinner �" m..

i feel left behind like a mitten forgotten on a bus hoping for a hand that fits.

i don’t see dead people i don’t hear dead people i don’t know dead people... where the hell do these people go? ..