sober poem
Poetry

In The Wrong Arms

The lamplight dimly spread to the corners of the room, where shadows hide and appear in our faces and cover our bodies. I only took quick glances at his face, I do not think I looked into his eyes, not knowing if they were blue, brown, or green. Read More

The Hierophant
Stories of Recovery

The Hierophant

They say Spring is the time of rebirth and new beginnings. No more dreary winter days. Death, cold, darkness. Though for myself I never thought the first weeks of Spring were anything that special, in fact the only thing coming to life are usually my allergies this time of year. Read More