This cookie is an assassin sent to murder me
The air is too loud
I can see through the hole in my ceiling when I sleep
I am very tired
I miss myself
The air is quiet now
And I can no longer close my eyes
And if only I could stop
And trust that air is has no sound
About the Creator
Ann Crafter
I believe that art exists to express emotions so specific/unique that one requires an unconventional outlet to display them.
Everything I write makes sense to me; each word has a place and provides clarity to my being.
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More stories from Ann Crafter and writers in Poets and other communities.
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Fiction
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There’s a typo in the last line please disregard…