Big Stuff


My Twine stuff is currently unavailable. I'll try and get it back online when I can find the files again. :/


Sometimes I write poems. Here are a few I don't hate!

the distant radio

Corroded former humanoid
Embraces pain she can't avoid
Vibration, tension, cosmic flow
The thrum that makes her paranoid
Whispers secrets we can't know
Whispers from the world below
The sounds of signals long ago
Split the distance, cross the void
To activate her radio


This heavy heart like hammer pounds
It's pulsing, pumping, panic bound
This mind, a blaring battleground
Of screeching, scratching, static sound


She feels the pull, the catch, the pain
The scratch that breaks her skin again
The numbness seeping in again
Again, again, it's all in vain
She feels the fissure in her skin
She rips herself another
In desperation, lashing in
She screams in silent sunder
She, in filth and terror lies
She, ever dying, never dies
She's given in to ugly lies
The lies, the lies, she hopes she dies
Her rusted nails, her shattered skull
Hewn in two but never twain
A wonder that she feels at all
The cycle circles round again
Again, again, to her chagrin
And frantic panic, seeking end
Her broken mind and body mend
And so another turn begins

"not a poem"

I wish I could write poetry
But I suppose you'll disagree
With my assessment of my skill
And say the only limit's me
It's true, I write and rhyme and pun
And all of that, I do for fun
But though a poem this seems to be
You've been deceived; it isn't one