Homesick. Lovesick.
Hungry. Hungover.
Lonely, sick to my stomach.
Weird.
Just a few of emotions to go through every time I depart from here.
City of Saints, please.
If there was a City of Saints, I'd never feel like this!
And I'd never leave.
About the Creator
Aj Quiero
I love the creative outlet for me, here on Vocal! Here I'll be posting poems, short videos, photography, and snippets of short movies and music videos.
Michel Onfray
"La fiction de Jésus n’a été nourrie que de mots, de couleurs, de pierres, de livres, de chants. Le Christ est une invention des hommes qui a nécessité la confiscation de l’art pour rendre possible une incarnation." The fiction of Jesus was nourished only by words, colours, stones, books, songs. Christ is an invention of men that has required the confiscation of art to make possible an incarnation. Michel Onfray, from Cosmos
By Patrick M. Ohana7 days ago in Poets
The Longest Minute
A minute. Sixty seconds to say goodbye. That’s all the time that I had left with him as the needle slid into his leg. I stared into his drooping eyes, looked at the blood-tainted saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. They said that this was the best thing that we could do for him, a last kind act for a best friend…but if that were the case, then why did my heart feel so heavy?
By Stephanie Hoogstad6 days ago in Fiction
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