A Prince in Practice
He wasn’t born into gold. No silver cradle, no velvet-lined destiny, no prophecy sealed with wax and a surname. He learned royalty in the slow grind— mud on his boots,...
Boxed Poltergeists and Kisses
It came at dusk— like the night itself had delivered it. Not mailed. Not expected. Just there, wood whispering against the doorstep, waiting for the right moment. The air was...
Son of the Tower
I wrote this because I am an adoring fan of King’s Gunslinger Series. Enjoy!
I am the Dancing On-Call Poetitorian
In one pocket, I carry a half-empty pen, its ink bleeding into napkins, café tables, and the margins of my own skin. In the other, a medic’s bag, ready to press language against wounds that refuse to close.