Steve

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryNew in America 1 Steve613 years 8 months ago
Storynew hampshire spring waits Steve413 years 9 months ago
StoryNew Hampshire Spring is... Steve313 years 10 months ago
StorySeoul Garden Steve213 years 10 months ago
StoryHypocrite Steve213 years 10 months ago
StoryFirst Love Steve214 years 1 week ago
StoryIn wanting so much to be loved Steve814 years 1 week ago
StoryThe Tender Buds of April Silver Spun Sand3014 years 10 months ago
StoryMichael Jackson's Early Demise Steve315 years 8 months ago
StoryGrowl Steve215 years 8 months ago
StoryDrips of emotion hint at Steve415 years 8 months ago
StoryThe Game Steve215 years 8 months ago
StoryMary Steve515 years 8 months ago
StorySong of David Steve215 years 9 months ago
StoryCome Away With Me Silver Spun Sand2115 years 9 months ago
StoryMe, and Her with the Piercings Silver Spun Sand1615 years 9 months ago
StoryImpressions of South Korea: Conversations, Thoughts, Etc. Steve215 years 9 months ago
StoryImpressions of South Korea: Work Ethic 4 Steve215 years 9 months ago
StoryImpressions of South Korea: Work Ethic 1 Steve415 years 9 months ago
StoryNudely Explore: impressions of S. Korea Steve215 years 9 months ago
StoryIV Steve215 years 9 months ago
StoryIII Steve315 years 9 months ago
StoryII Steve515 years 9 months ago
StoryGabriel Freed Steve315 years 10 months ago

My stories

Nudely Close All Doors

it wasn't easy, the way i erased myself, part after part trait after trait i even erased my name. i even erased my vagina. there was no one to hate. there was no one who did evil unto me.

Fall Nights

the mad hairs of the wind are unloosed, they shake and drum eerily on the windows, almost an old clairvoyant knocking on the door to tell me something terrible. look at those eyes

Where has the ground gone?

Where is that warm-hearted feeling of security? Only dry seeds left out in the thunderstorm, no elevation of feeling to the eiffel tower of a long-lasting orgasm,

Lord, help me

i am fragile, vulnerable a slave to my feelings which drag me on and on to inaction just chewing the ends of an event, a thing that endlessly bothers me.

The stars

are beacons in the night whose curly hair, dark melliflous inkblot the light brushstrokes of God, dotted for the universe to breathe. no breath can hold the sound of a star trailing off

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