Falling in love with an Edgar Allan Poe… —

A short story. — Warning: implied violence What is an unwitnessed moment; is it even real? No proof. Nothing left behind. Nothing to show. Nothing to show that once this dirt held people. The ghosts of millions upon millions of journeys. Nothing to say about the woman who knelt here one morning on the…

I don’t know. To paraphrase Harry Styles: my favourite thing about this poem is, like, it feels like a poem… — There are sounds you never made voices you never craved and sometimes it’s OK to be dramatic Yeah sometimes it’s OK to scream out your heart’s pain cos you’re no stranger to the flame and ain’t it tragic? So let it all emerge when you find you feel the surge of the…

Table of Contents - Lists - The Story of Me and the UK Amazon Associate Programme - Blogging and Social Media - Books - Book Reviews - Creativity - Earnings/Money - Environment - Fanfiction/Fandom - Feminism - Films - History - Horror - LGBTQ+ - Mental Health - Poetry …

PLUS — I hit my dollar a day!!! — Warning: this post briefly discusses Depression and general mental health problems BIG NEWS!: in September, I hit my long-term goal of a dollar a day!!! In fact, I got just over $33 from the Medium Partner Program, in total. I know to some people that’s small change, but it has taken me a long, long, time to reach this target and I am totally…

…There’s a lot of it out there, right? — ‘We’ve got mountains of content Some better, some worse If none of it’s of interest to you, you’d be the first’ - Bo Burnham, Welcome to the Internet There’s a lot of content out there, a lot of media, a lot of art, a lot of whatever you wanna call…

Poetry. — Is this the end of this chapter? If I were to stretch my hands out would my fingertips grace only the expanse of liminal space between this one and the next? Are there no words here to cling to, any longer? Will I fall, free-form from this paragraph’s denouement? …

Sad/emo-vibes poetry. — The air is sad tonight heavy-striked and hammered flat, it smells of burning and steel If the fog was not so thick, perhaps we’d see the sparks — embers floating impossibly high like fireflies, this fire flies into the crying shame of night covered by callous fumes The air is…

Poetry. —