Collarbone Community

The ancient ancestry

Sleep brought no peace. The Grimoire dragged Eira into its chambers. The air in the chamber hung thick with the scent of burnt myrrh and ancient parchment. Eira knelt on the obsidian floor, her knees numb from hours of stillness, her palms pressed flat against the grimoire’s cover. Its leather was... read more

Old draft I'm keeping the structure but a few things have changed for the better in my newer version

The Veil Walker hissed, its voice like bones grinding glass. Then it vanished. A blink—nothing. Eira spun. “Where did it go?” “Behind!” Keal barked. The creature dropped from the trees like a nightmare birthed from shadow, slamming into Thorne with bone-snapping force. The two went down hard. The... read more

Some exciting news: I'm finally back on the Champagne Special for the first time since my broken collarbone. It feels great to be out rhere again, so happy to get back to riding hard and fast. There really is nothing like the joy and fun of being back on a bicycle.

Back on the saddle

Some exciting news: I'm finally back on the Champagne Special for the first time since my broken collarbone. It feels great to be out rhere again, so happy to get back to riding hard and fast. There really is nothing like the joy and fun of being back on a bicycle.

She Moves Like Poetry

She moves like poetry, in verses only the wind understands— soft, like petals waking at dawn, like lace brushing skin in a quiet room. Her beauty isn’t loud— it hums in silence, rests in the curve of her lips before a smile, in the slope of her collarbone, where shadows sleep and secrets... read more

The bakers Daughter

One of the poems I’ve written recently… She smells of scorched sugar, ghosted cloves, a flick of flour, On her collarbone. like ash from a saint, who never burned. She feeds the town its daily warmth, leaving none for herself. At dawn. I watch her press, worlds back into shape, Existence from... read more