Articles

i am her and she is me if i tried to count how many times i would run out of fingers we would all run out of fingers so engrained it...

My throat is torn A mess Of bloody fingerprints scattering Claiming victory to my Plundered spirit It's funny. why is it so easy to Throw...

The Shape and the Colour In the old dusk there are Sleeping cars sinking into their wheels And someone somewhere is Knitting one,...

Staying at home is sitting in a bright room watching the day darken behind glass. A noisy washing machine. Reruns of A Place in the Sun....

Poem by Aria Aristotleous Artwork/Design by Charlotte Dobson