That dilapidated house in Eastwood made every day feel like a horror film. Its current state more accurately depicts what it was like to live inside. Its paint has long faded. The grass is overgrown and weeds have destroyed a yard that was once so meticulously managed. The windows are permanently shut, with blankets covering them from the inside as not to allow anybody to see within.

I’ve found crude streets offer plenty to see. 

The sun hung high in the Bahamian sky, casting a warm and inviting glow across campus. As my partner Mickell and I eagerly awaited the end of our classes, the minutes seemed to stretch on forever. It was one of those in-between moments when time moved at its own leisurely pace, and hunger gnawed at our insides. McDonald's was the natural choice, a beacon of familiarity amongst the student body.

“Nevah go on dat pier!” 
“Not when da moon is full!” 
“When not a creak can ya hear!” 
“When da world is at a lull!” 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 
This wasn’t supposed to happen. 
What was supposed to be a triumphant, 
And a heartfelt victory, 
Was soiled by iron and the smell of loss. 

Such blights of the soul, 
Have persisted throughout history. 
Yet, there is one, 
An eighth that bears warning. 

Born to the clapping of hands 
And cheers and quickening of pace 
To see the shining hope for the land 
That came with shrieks and cries and scrunching of face 
“We must haste! And mustn't forget--” 
“Long Live the Queen!” 

Tiredness had known my mother’s face better than anything and anyone else. A diligent woman she was, always opting to work smarter instead of harder.

In shadows deep, where darkness takes its throne,
There blooms a rose with petals dipped in sin.
Its beauty, like a siren's haunting tone,
Beguiles the soul, where wickedness begins.

In the quiet moments of dawn,
When the world holds its breath,
Beauty tiptoes through the silence.

Wide-open petals, 
Softly shimmering morning dew, 
Beauty, breathing in light.

In the garden of twilight,
where moonlight weaves through shadows,
there blooms a flower of sinister allure.

Softly falling petals, 
Lovely murmurs in the breeze, 
The subtle beauty of nature. 

In beauty's realm, where wonders softly sing,
Each fleeting moment, a masterpiece unfurled.
In whispered sighs, the gentle zephyrs bring.
The scent of roses, love's own sweetest world.

In beauty's dance, where time and dreams entwine,
Each curve of grace, a portrait's tender stroke.
As dawn's first light on dew-kissed petals shine,
So does your essence, in every word you speak.

I dreamed of nothing and prayed for silence.

Dear old man, parked constantly besides the road,
Calling dirty steel and cold ceramic
The place of your personal abode.

In the hushed shadows of remembrance, my life unfolds a canvas painted with solitude’s muted shades. The departure of love left me balancing on life’s tightrope, while divorce shattered the family mosaic I clung to.