Category: Poetry

Time, it moves and yet it is immobile. It does not occupy space but is an abstract of it. We only know that time is real because it is real to us we decay and die and because of this we know that there is time for us. I wonder what it would be like…

The sun burns up, leaves begin to brown. How the eyes look onward into a horizon painted red. Colors bleed and press against my eyelids until they are all I see.   If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope that you will…

Blood boiling; a silent rage. The endless night as it infects and poisons itself. How silence cuts through words, making them bite sized and swalloable.  ________________________________________ If you’re reading this thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my writing. I hope you will return in the future.  -Alina

The light that boils and sears the flesh. The eyes are blinded. And still there is darkness around the edges, living in shadows and drifting through the mind. Hot heat and bright lights do not fully distinguish the cool darkness that is still alive.   If you’re reading this Thank You for taking time out…