“Poetry is all that is worth remembering in life.”
— William Hazlitt
The Killer
As the hands of the clock kissed each other, the sound of midnight struck, a resonance causing dust to drift like snowflakes, across the moonlit room, landing ever so softly upon floor. The hours
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Emily's Revenge
It could have been easier, so much easier, if he had only decided on another course of action that late evening’s night. I ponder back on it now, and a thousand words of terror still haunt my mind. What was the
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The Witness
The cold rain on my shoulders
A bizarre evening in store
As I peer in through the curtains
I’m stunned to my core
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