spread my palms. read the
lives of my daughters and their
daughters and theirs, theirs.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
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every time you touch me I feel the echo of her body through you
By R.C. Taylorabout a year ago in Poets
Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in Fiction
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