Kristina Moulaison > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Empty nest.

My Father was forever pacing the halls tripping over better versions of himself, exhaling too much air as if to expel the voices in his..

little girl, wandering in the green shimmering grass wondering how high does the blue sky reach will i ever get there how ..

Empty minds make for swollen members bothered by fleshy tidbits and salty, sweet delusions tongues ever hanging out to catch a new scent lazy ..

If she could gather these seedsshe scatterswhen tastingtheir power-bursts of red poppiesthat bleedlimp fallen petalsto the dirtblack stems flailin..

Leaving a trail in sand hoping somehow sunlight hardens it against decay. Keeps it, buries evidence, ..

This is just a bit of snark aimed at the pious.

On being a parent and viewing your children as an extension of self.

when am I whole in the moment before sleep when death and panic mingle or in the sunlight bliss of afternoon when solace and ..

Wandering the night cold, alone, finding solace in weak, empty things- too flimsy to hold you up, but finite enough to feel like ..