by Marah McCarty she is quiet within her skin,although there is no definition for demureness in the Garden.she does not need to be courageous,feel the adversity which make women stagnate toGod’s greater plan.she is supple and pink,a canvas of the most impractical womanand mankind’s most perfect.he is robust, with large…
by Sue Ellen Snape She has blood on hands, blood down her bodice, the stench of blood up her nose. The hem of her skirt is drenched a dark sticky red. She’s not one to shrink from the sight of blood, oh no. Lopping the head off a chicken comes…
by Carli Chisenall I think a lot. I think a lot about death. The soft whisper of a soul, finally escaping its prison of flesh and sin. That one last exhausted breath. Solace, at last. I think a lot. I think a lot about life. It is everything and nothing….