In this drafty bedside cavern I lay with my feet up against the wall tap tap tap Held up over my hard head Resting against the hard ground Back here, where my pillow is my headstone This palace is a burden, Utterly insufferably forgiving.
Fantasy hits the ceiling A dream shot from my mind CRACK Moonlight shines through the cave's newborn fissures Useless to me Uselessly groveling under shadowy sheets of sky I need this sterile fluorescent light.
It dances across my face pitter patter pitter patter It drops into my eyes, Falls into the chasm between my lips Cold and reeking of rot Cold and tasting of an invasive species of mildew I swallow, choking back tears I eat it It eats back.
Francis Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Bishop, CA
I think I’m going to do it this time. I’m going to cut it out of me. Why? I can’t deal with this anymore. It’s as simple as that. The world is an ocean that washes over me. The sound of the water is deafening. It drowns my heart. My panic becomes as large as the sun and my mind as little as the moon appears. I need release. I need to hurt me before the world can again. Then I can comfort myself. I’m going to make myself a river worth drowning in.
a bright moon lights up the room soft linen comforting curiosity ethereal melodies navigating forward eyes recognizing constellations connections beyond reality towards everlasting ideas then once those eyes close those ideas will light the way
a shimmering lightness of white rolls playfully across the tips of slender bladed greenery the delicate dancing of that yet-to-be-mown grass grown long beyond what building aesthetics should permit a gentle play of low-lying sun glanced upon frosted and thawed alike the cold breath of wind ruminating between a delicate breeze or those chilling gusts harsh yet homely while blanketed in the warmth of this merino wool even the bitterest of winter mornings will feel nothing but picturesque