The Price of Loans

Her suffering was her currency as she would trade in sympathies among a band of devils driven wild by their needs to be possessed and to possess in a world seldom fair being built in complications simple heads never seem to ever understand and.

She was Magnificent.

They way she tore me down. Only one other thing had ever hurt me more.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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Ray Avatar
September 30, 2026 at 10:52 PM
i know this story too well, line by line, you delivered neuron pathways of painful rememberances....can't ask more of a poem than a home of deliverance within
Bergeron  Avatar
October 1, 2026 at 9:43 AM
Thank you Timothy.
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