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Saturday morning memoriesThe cracks between what you knew [and what you assume you know] spider across the walls you built to keep the world on the outside.Saturday morning memories
Spirals so wide we see them only as a line here, a line there: where we draw the line in the sand gets closer and closer every time.
dedicated amnesiacs we hold these truths to be self-detriment and shy away from the shackles of the awkward, shameful dreams the ones we never spoke of mad relat
by ~vargr
Vintr IWe built our heretic temples in snow and ice, melting altars to a faceless, shapeless god; withdrawn beneath the armour of permafrost, isolated in katorgas of our own creation. Slaves to a psychic wanderlust; unbound and free to walk where others feared; we soared dizzy heights in our minds, yet bound by small, frost-bound bodies.Vintr I
The stars were symbols of our pariah state, the graffiti of our self-celled walls; many had passed this way and prayed to old suns, and we were no better or worse than they.
The existence of soul mere rhetorical, a word for s
by ~vargr
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The Black PoolIt is the doom of men that they forget- Walled in a distance of gloom seen by none but the bent shuffled off out of their sugary trance so coddled and cradled then bundled and bridled, ridden like beasts to their end-The Black Pool
Cold stabs bite the chunk- slapping stack free of chance below, halved in twain as a madman's bow bursting in the rain!
Blooded sticks what once were... laughter in prisms, aloft aloft high singing of greenery lusted with dew wandering spirits of oak did stir in smoke as a drift of a curl- to scent as a blood spatt
by =Jedfire
A Pessimist's DaybreakDaylight is not the thing you suspected, or were led to believe. It is not the fair-fingered lady with golden hair, drawing away the curtains of the heavens and letting light pour down like a fine summer wine.A Pessimist's Daybreak
You are not getting drunk off its good melodies, the notes of strawberry and dawn. Daylight is the violent red digits of your alarm clock, and the checklist by the refrigerator. It is the mess you have made by night, in full detail, exposed in gory accuracy. Daylight is not proof your dreams carry over into the waking world; it is the trumpet that
by ~Lethargic-Thursday
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