An eldritch aura permeates
a palace, long forgotten.
I fell. Which may illuminate
my place amongst the rotten.

How long these ruins slept, I fear's
a desert measured aeon,
for sand has creep'd and crept in here,
a structure so protean.

This place it whispers death and dust,
a sister to the barrow.
I must escape this depth. I must!
These halls are much too narrow.

The stench of age, it fills the air,
with hints of green and purple.
Appendages, they slither there,
My thoughts they now encircle.

A mutter on the wind calls me,
it sends my digits lame.
Fluttered eyes. Where two should be,
five globules cry my name.

That fickle murmor, foe at first,
but now I know my error.
He tickles thoughts and quenches thirst.
Come, how could it sow terror?

All is well, I've found a friend,
His hug is warm and tight.
His many arms they do not end,
but wriggle, kiss, and bite.

I do not mean to flatter, when
I say you are the moon.

Your existence lies so distant,
Yet in my sight you loom.

A tide I am to your expanse,
you push and pull my heart.

Though years it's been since we did speak,
your smile tears me apart.

A sun you've found, to orbit now,
perhaps it's for the best.

Some lips, I hope, will eclipse yours,
till then my soul won't rest.

A simple spectre wrecks the calm.

O' Sleep, his absence bids the morn.

His dreams he seems to scatter far,

yet leaves my bedroom door ajar.

Although I grip, he slips my palm,

and so I greet the ruthless dawn.

O' Sleep, I'll leap at where you are,

because I've counted every star.

Putting pixel to page,
he types.

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

Fingers flurry away,
he swipes.

Zap.
Zap.
Zap.

Showing symptoms of age
he writes.

Crap.
Crap.
Crap.

Bugs, and bogs, and battlecrys,
thieves, and trolls, and dragons fly.

Sword and sorcery,
shield and steam.
Clink and clack,
shine and gleam.

Mythril, chain, and leather works.
Sigils, pain and thrusting dirks.

Student, Teacher
words and wind.
Music, Fae,
and naming things.

Mistborn, alloys, Kredik Shaw,
Kandra and Inquisitors.

Rohan Mordor,
Minas Tirith,
Rings and Orcs,
Hobbit village.

From child, to teen, to present me;
escape, and dreams, and fantasy.

Now,
it's broken.

Soaking in regret.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.

Wrecked.

Wracked brain.
Passion rattles,
gurgling, like rain.
Cracked frame,
splat, it will,
circling a drain.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.

Wrecked.

Now,
it's broken.

Soaking in regret.