Posted by PrachyaReview | Sep 7, 2019 | Poetry |
The Day asks How do we live? Rough As tree bark, weathered With no illusion. The day has no wings, but it can fly, A clear sky with no worry. But sometimes, It gets dark early, Hours pass like years And the years...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Sep 2, 2019 | Artwork |
There are some things that I have left unsaid. I have not forgotten them, nor are they something sublime in the sense that they can only be experienced and not presented. It may sound a little weird, but, how do we even...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Sep 1, 2019 | Poetry |
Pieta I have become utterly numb. My skin has hardened to cement, a statuesque shell of dissociation. Blood streaks my skin, and bruises blossom, but no pain can get in. This cocoon has petrified itself around me, solidifying...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Aug 31, 2019 | Story |
At the sound of a motorcycle roaring, Laura Hapley moves the curtain aside and looks out the window. Instead of passing by, the machine stops. A tall person dressed all in black swings their legs off and gently places their...
Read MorePosted by PrachyaReview | Aug 31, 2019 | Story |
“Today’s topic is relationships,” I announced to the group of ten or so patients at the Bright Haven Psychiatric Center. They were either sleeping or talking among themselves. Very few had enough focus to be able to look at me...
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