MuseStruck Publications

Sometimes, your demons chase me. I think they escape through your eyes. The inky blackness leaks into my space, stains my soul, and tarnishes the light I know, you can't always keep them inside. I watch you struggle and fight. By the time they've reached me,

Letter To The Fallen Did you know that your eldest slept on your grave? Not even his momma Could drag him away. The mourners had come and all gone away but daddy's little man insisted he stay. He said he was waiting for the angels to come; that

I’m tired of looking at Death’s face, smelling his putrid breath and watching him leer down at the ones I love. I hate the way he slithers in all cocky and sure of himself, delighting in our grief, rejoicing in our pain. Go on then, you bastard. Yes,

Broken People We are a scattered tribe, so many of us, so many pieces floating softly like ashes on the wind; broken promises, broken dreams, broken hearts, Broken People. Like moths to a flame, we are to each other drawn, fluttering into lives and open spaces. Floating out the other