The Quill of Samantha Grace Newcastle

gone

  • stage the urn

    The clock ticks,,each second a reminderof the charade,the performance that has grown too heavy,too worn Outside, the world around acts happy and joyful with family and home, while I stand numbed by the absurdityof my own existence,my polished and painted on grin cracking,revealing shadows beneath, as ,an urgent whisper: says “Stop,just stop.” It’s time to… Read more

  • Weeping? for?

    Today, I weep,then sleep,then weep againlike that lost sock from the laundry as I sit alone; the weight of the world sits deep within my emotions I reach for the remote yet the TV screen feels like a cruel joke, laughter without warmth,voices from other lives, all pretend I try to hold on,but the walls… Read more