Woops.  18 months is a lot longer than I meant to go.  Let’s not get into the stuff that happens over the course of a year, but suffice it to say it’s not been conducive to maintaining my writing, that’s for sure (either here or elsewhere).

I’ve made it a point to get back into it.  If you’re still out there, come along with me, if you’d like.



I can feel you,


watching me

from across the room.


My mind wanders

back to you,

and I itch

for you in my hands.


Oh how you misled me

with promises of a future

I only dreamed of as a child.

I’m not the first


to be taken in.

Insidious, ensnaring,

you reduced my defenses

and left me helpless, dependent.


And then,

once vulnerable,

you consumed all I gave you

like the predator you are.


I wrote the above to stretch my muscles.  It’s about my phone.

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