S.W.

S.W.

A poet by way of life. Words just came easy to me, though I may never write a bestseller. I just want you to feel understood. At the end of my work if we’re closer than when you started reading I’ve done my part.

How does it work?
  • S.W.
    Published 7 months ago
    Life in a cube.

    Life in a cube.

    In our mind devoid of time with the billions of lives flickering in and out. The city clambers with life. The metropolitan is detached and remains as a haven to the lost and weary eyed souls whose lives feign in the day and thrive in the night. Toiling for pennies on the dime. Dying from 9-5 and commuting to be compartmentalized in a cell. The coffee rings at the edge of your desk, the astray you’ve never emptied on your end table. The mounds of aluminum beer cans clang as another joins the heap. The fucking drab accents of tan suits and tacky ties. And that fucking phone rings off the hook. And you can’t escape, but why?
  • S.W.
    Published 7 months ago
    Vacancy

    Vacancy

    The buzz of neon signs outside the store, as a bustling city washing me in an array of noise.