Twit

I’m the mad psychiatrist. A shadow self lurking inside the pockets of the white coat, like a tiny black imp, twisted little mouth grinning, bent twig fingers pinching, digging deep. ...

It’s the silence that you pull around you while you check your emails, the silence that makes a goldfish bowl around you while you sit and knit. My chatter is ...

Come in Won’t you come into my parlour, says Jack Nicholson to Shelley Duvall. No you stupid woman, don’t hit me with the baseball bat I want to see a ...

Not once upon a time, but a time very like, I saw a line of business men going to work in London town. Everyday they came and everyday I watched; ...

The apple never falls far from the tree, and I believe (i must believe) That my fruit is infinitely better, and sweeter, than the old. If you say the fruit ...

The ghosts left their mourning clothes behind in the empty house. The clock strikes Once Twice Thrice and four; The chimes fall like petals, alone in the empty house. ...

i am knit together, bone upon bone sinew upon sinew flesh upon flesh and all seems perfect until I am put to the test. dropped stitches moth holes ...