I write because I read. I read because I write.
As the darkness of the evil night cloaks buildings and city lights, her tired soul drowned in the sea of strong, weakening beer bites. Unknown he led her into a dark corridor, t'was too late to fight. — ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo credit: Mike Wilson In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three… Continue reading Too Late
Snatch my innocence as swift as a bullet. I promise, I won’t hide nor run away. My predator, I am your willing prey. — ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo credit: Rebecca Johnston In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Thirty-Five. If you want to join, here are the simple rules:… Continue reading Predator and Prey
The yellow car was welcomed by the flock of frowning, peeking humans waiting inside the old church. This occasion is usually painted in pure white, a contrast to the auto parked in front of the door that’s just very bright. But the bride seated inside is as jolly as the color of the sun, so… Continue reading Odd Choice
Rugged hands inked with brave symbols--- dark icons that make innocent heart trembles. None knows they hide war's one broken, tattered soul. — ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo credit: Alex Hockett In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Thirty-One. If you want to join, here are the simple rules: Write three… Continue reading Tattooed and Tattered
The growling, glaring velvet sky is angry, as if it’s sharp lighting and loud thunder can stop you and me from etching our bodies with lips-made poetry. — ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo credit: Breno Machado In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Twenty-Nine. If you want to join, here… Continue reading Lips-made Poetry
Today is our silver anniversary yet I know my wife thinks this day won’t bring anything special. Years after the economic crisis, my little art business is still trying to get up after a five-year continues fall. Simultaneously, our once in love hearts have been drifting apart. Love is essential, but money affects it in… Continue reading Funk Fixer
Carefully choosing among the sharp, the hard, the brute and the bad, my shaking hand grazes the powerful tools’ varied edges as it discerns what it’ll use to you and your mistress. — ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo credit: Ashim D’Silva In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Twenty-Eight. If… Continue reading Pick One
Awakened by the loud jeers, cheers of the playing boys outside, I slowly went out of bed. He’s standing just outside our bedroom door staring, waiting for me. He offered his hands with a weak smile. I smiled back and took his hand to his surprise. Outside, I gripped his hands tighter as my eyes… Continue reading Morning View
I’ll cling to you until my fragile hands bleed against your rugged, rough edges. I’ll cling until my candle-like fingers turned cold in the absence of my warm flowing blood. I’ll cling until my pink nails turned dark purple and almost dead-gray. I’ll cling... I’ll cling to you. Even when you can’t cling to me too. —… Continue reading Cling
Cave woman. That taunting nickname was born when I was a teenager because of my bar-hate. The tag and my bar inexperience have remained until now that I’m almost at my four-decade mark. I hate the smell of beers and alcohols, most of all, smoke. I can’t stand noise equally. Beyond these, I’ve heard and watched… Continue reading Cave Woman
A Reading Writer 