Spilled Ink

that feeling of
having no direction to give
the many breaths i’ve breathed

i was sleeping
body uninspired
heart tired
thoughts suspended in silence

the wind whispered a tune of hope

i’m awake
limbs jolt
heart pumps
mind whizzes

i pray i never live another
lack luster day


It’s raining and 39°F outside. I don’t have a car and the only rides I have today are a book and a good cup of coffee.

I’m thankful for days like this. The sound of rain putting the deafening silence to sleep. The only music needed is the ticking of a clock. And the only voice required is your own; words from a good book.

Instead of walking away,
She kissed him
Saline mischief in her eyes
Specks of insolence
Waves of dusk unfurled in her hair,
He won’t forget her
Even after his last breath
He’s addicted to her,
Intoxicated by her very presence
Without her, the night is barren
Like a black dagger
The flame of her chest is within him too
He begs for air
So that his body burns with hers



So here I am again. Running away from my calling only brought me straight back to it. Well, I wouldn’t call it my ‘calling’ yet. But my passion, really. I love photos. I love writing things. Things that have meaning. Authenticity. Words, images, videos that transport you.

I tried this once before a few years ago. Thought I was being silly about it. But look! I’m back. It’s like trying to put out a flame without taking away the oxygen.

These are my images.

These are my words.

These are my thoughts.

This is me.