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Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
My Name
I won't come for you all at once. No, I'll consume your soul nice and slow, taking you over piece by piece and bit by bit. In the beginning, you'll still have control. I won't be noticeable; I'll be as silent as a shadow, making little changes here or there. You'll start to look at yourself more closely in the mirror, poking and prodding at the areas you want to change. Soon you will start to eliminate certain habits; anything with fat content will disappear from your diet. I'll congratulate you then, and you will seek comfort in my approval. You will try to please me, and the growling of your stomach will be sweet music to my ears. I will no
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
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Comments13
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Oh! The imagination of romance! Wonderful. 