by Christian Velilla (This story contains attempted suicide.) I find myself in that icy corner of my room, with my body lost in inaudible sobs and tears that I only feel running down my cheeks, but they are nothing more than vivid flashes of my imagination; like little diamonds that…
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Moon Hung Low
by The Poet Darkling young crescent moon orange hanging low as RÄ“gulus watches her dip below the ridge to the west of us. A calf screams somewhere to the south as The Norfolk Southern S-Line whines just north. Coyotes howl ice into our veins we pull our shawl tight then…