Ronan Quinn

He is the smile in every week, his absence sparks a riot in my head, the back of him is  the end of my day. Created from mirth is his...

Sunken without you. Tears of ice fall to the dry ground, tear ducts frozen over, a thaw yet to commence, slippery and cold to the touch...

The trees sway in the wind, I turn to feel a touch on my shoulder. A mutual fund for grey skies, nurturing a capacity for sadness,...