creative writing
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The House at Withering Moor
The moor was mist-lashed, brittle with frost, and the clouds hung low and gray like mold on a ceiling. Eliza stood in the high tower window of Withering House, her hands resting on the cold sill, her breath fogging the… Continue reading
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Fragments, 4.15.25
Daily, I veer between moments of aching spiritual hunger and sudden, icy alienation from others, the world, and even myself. It’s as if two entirely different beings take turns steering my soul. Some would blame my bipolar diagnosis; others might… Continue reading
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Eternal Vows in the Catacombs
Beneath the chapel’s silent domeThey pledged their love in crypt & loamBy candle’s flare & shadow’s breathThey swore to conquer time & death Cold stone around them, damp with ageA tomb became their bridal stageTheir whispers curled like smoke through… Continue reading
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The Demon Was Sent
No one saw it arrive. There was no sound, heat, flickering veil, or flame. It simply was where once it had not been: a new wrinkle in the air, a smudge in the pattern of things. The wind shuddered backwards… Continue reading
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Midnight at the Graveyard Gate
The gate began to groan at twelveA breathless hinge from shadow’s shelveMist curled like fingers through the barsClutching dreams & silver stars She came in silence, pale & thinWith candlelight beneath her skinA ghost not bound by death or boneBut… Continue reading
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Fragments, 4.11.25
What road lies beneath no footYet consumes every wanderer whole?It leads nowhereBut none return *** Who speaks with no voiceIs prayed to with no nameAnd sees with no eyesYet is carved in every mind? *** What mouth splits wide with… Continue reading
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Grandma’s Thrift & Bone
The sign out front said “GRANDMA’S THRIFT & BONE – UNDEAD GOODS, AMAZING PRICES!” in flaking paint and what might have been coagulated blood. Beneath it, a handwritten chalkboard cheerfully advertised: TODAY’S SPECIAL: BUY ONE SKULL, GET A FREE TIBIA!… Continue reading
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This Land Is My Land (Unless It’s Gated)
Johnny Appleseed woke behind a Taco Bell dumpster with apple seeds in his beard and a parking ticket stapled to his tunic. The year was 2025, the air smelled faintly of vape juice and synthetic optimism, and Johnny was—once again—an… Continue reading
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Fragments, 4.8.25
While idling in traffic on my way to work, a young man in the car beside me motioned for me to roll down my window. His eyes were glassy—between high and haunted—and the muffled thump of rap music pulsed from… Continue reading
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Joy Walks Silently
Live in joy, though shadows creepIn peace that roots the soul so deepEven where the storm winds doubleFind stillness born of ancient sleep Walk through fire with feet unburnedThe path unseen, but deeply learnedAmong the ash where sorrow lingersLight weaves… Continue reading
God Is In The Radio 