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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2022
Submitted to Contest #165
Is It My Fault? Milton Louis Steinberg He’s dead. Henry’s dead, the son of a bitch. How could he? Don’t speak harshly of the…. He’s dead. I’m free…but not like this. (Ugh, with a pipe.) Oh, why did I marry him, why, why, why? He wanted me, that’s why I married him. I knew right away he wasn’t…, but he wanted me. I wanted to write my poetry, and he wanted…me…me. More than anything in the world he wanted me. I could see it in his eyes. I could feel it radiating off of him like heat when we were together. He wanted me, and it’s wonderf...
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