A collection of words.

My Mother Told Me So

Two years ago, regret existed only as a foreign concept. Who could prepare for a reality so brutal: my mother’s spirit relieved of its physical

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embryo

cancer of the sweetest poisons,                       caramel Georgian peach. an aura as addictive –                                        earth’s most succulent devil’s pie. Me no want riches if it means                    

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Open Note 25

Driving at 65 MPH on the I-10, listening to the remaster of Lonely Fire by Miles Davis—A twenty minute vibe and an irony as the

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Silver Sanity

a Man, coated in bronze,resides in a reality illuminatedunder a cerulean sun.Born under the influence of generational despair, losing a home to empty bottles made of

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Citrus Sun

Before the sun touches the horizon,I wake fully clothed —Seeking fulfillment with pockets full of gold dust,fixing my gaze upon solar supremacy,          exploring the possibilities of a life

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R.A.G.E.E

I’ve grown to understand that proximity is the key to affection.That distance can be the antagonist of true love, yetironic that your love stretched continents.A love

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Copyright © 2025 | Philip Gabriel Steverson