jonahs cough

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryAN IDYLLIC AFTERNOON skinner_jennifer187 years 6 months ago
StoryCigarette jonahs cough611 years 10 months ago
StoryBefore you weren't jonahs cough911 years 10 months ago
StoryAt Eternity's Gate jonahs cough1211 years 10 months ago
StoryApollo in his cottons jonahs cough1311 years 10 months ago
StoryAngels write in poetry, Demons write in prose jonahs cough1011 years 10 months ago
StoryA Thief in the Country jonahs cough511 years 10 months ago
CollectionResistant Literature jonahs cough011 years 10 months ago
CollectionAnd so on... jonahs cough011 years 10 months ago
StoryName thanksforthepar...813 years 12 months ago
StoryBrave New World Silver Spun Sand1214 years 3 months ago
StoryTwenty Million Five Hundred Eleven Thousand One Hundred Forty-nine thanksforthepar...714 years 3 months ago
StorySulphur sun-rise Beeme1514 years 3 months ago
Story( I.P.) Oxymoronically Speaking Silver Spun Sand1314 years 3 months ago
StorySunny Silver Spun Sand1214 years 3 months ago
StoryTOO LATE FOR GOODBYES skinner_jennifer1814 years 3 months ago
StorySchneider's First Rank jonahs cough814 years 3 months ago
StoryLover's Game shoe1014 years 3 months ago
Story'Can't Let Maggie Go' Silver Spun Sand1414 years 3 months ago
StoryIt needs a Dragon camilla614 years 3 months ago
StoryPictures flickering over skin Beeme1014 years 3 months ago
Forum topicSmall Pieces of England camilla414 years 3 months ago
StoryGod grants sleep to those whom He loves jonahs cough1214 years 3 months ago
StorySmall pieces of England jonahs cough814 years 3 months ago
StoryOutback Beeme1214 years 3 months ago

My stories

Cherry

A Thief in the Country

They keep them hidden Within those rolling hills Their dirty little things That not even the hoarding Claws of Magpies will touch
Cherry

At Eternity's Gate

In a pool Of sweat and dark memories A lone swimmer Carves out lengths On the quivering surface

Cigarette

It is the smell that takes you first, That gentle odour of dry tobacco, That whispers into the air And tiptoes into your nose,

Angels write in poetry, Demons write in prose

As I lie beneath the blanket Of a heavy Devon sky That has breached its secret contract With the local weatherman And begun to bleed
Cherry

Apollo in his cottons

His imagination was crushed to a pulp, Between the pages of a GCSE maths book, And his eyes were dug out of his face, By lines and lines of twisting jargon,

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