The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake: … 388 more words
The womanising cricket playing, Duke of Dorset writing from his embassy in Paris could only offer as a cure for porphyry: ‘a remede (sic)…it is tout simplement the blood of a jack-ass which after passing a clear napkin through it two or three times is given to the patient to drink’. 612 more words
I’m a vampire. Not in the “kiss me Edward, you delicious sparkly creature” sense but in the my skin in sunlight feels like how bacon sounds when it’s cooking sense. 575 more words
Normally, I reserve this blog only for all things poetry. And I promise there is more poetry on its way.
I’m sorry for this post, but it’s become necessary to do this, not just for my personal health, but because not addressing this issue will most certainly impact my life, and my ability to continue writing. 428 more words