http://slow.writerscafe.org/claricestarling The original writings of author claricestarling en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776067546 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 You are so beautiful. There are so many things I want to say to you. You are the sweetest woman I have ever been blessed enough to encounter. When the sun rises in the morning, I will think if you because you give me the strength to rise and face everything in this world. Without you, I feel em.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249201/ Quickening breathing and troubling tongueWhile apathy forces fire straight into my lungs.The mind remains bitter,But the heart beats still.Rapidly releasing the last of my will.Vision drifts distant,And touch nears numb.While the echo of my life burns into the sun.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249189/ The artist painted me tonight,A canvas I laid there bare.He used his hands to paint the lightAnd the breeze throughout my hair.I begged the artist to never stop,And his gaze locked into mine.He violently ripped down the clock,And shattered the rest of time.The artist painted me tonight,So forever wi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249188/ My memory alludes me,It passes me by.While my skin remains untangled,Like unraveled twine.The shadow of your fingersAs it fades down my spine...My memory alludes me,It passes me by.And the shadow of youStill plagues my mind. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249185/ "There is a woman in the clock" she said.Locked behind the glass.She had two children behind the handThat tick away the past.I told her there was nothing there,There simply was no space.The old woman cried tears of shameIn a nightgown made of lace.She told me to look again,and to not just simply see.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249183/ Next time I will keep to myself,At the back of my mind,On the back of the shelf.A place I find I always return,Steady and dormant but waiting to burn.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249180/ I am not pleased with this way of life.Stretching and squirming to reach the knife,To inevitably cut my ties to light,And bury myself within the night.In this darkening opposition,I stumbled upon an inquisition,That although the ground in which we lay,May be muddled and blurred with hues of gray,Tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/claricestarling/1249178/