...I couldn't help but to stare blankly at your white, emotionless face...

The last time I saw you... You had a light full of joy and grace...

But to see that light now gone from you body left a taste of melancholy

A hood of sorrows is what hid my bitter sweet tears from them and you, what folly...

Before my aching heart could leave your presence, your eyes opened...

Your heart startled by a hug, your eyes gazed around at all of us, an opportunity, I was hope'n

You stared straight into my black stained waterfall and spooked me

When your pale, cold hand, with quickness, grabbed my hand.. and begged me not to leave..

It shook... I could feel and count every bone you used... with the little muscle strength you had...

My body trembled at your white, thin, Skeleton hand... Stabbed by the reality of loss...the insecurity was bad..

I felt so troubled and helpless... Since there was nothing from me you could gain...

"Alan...Linard...." was the last thing I heard, the last thing she said... it was her husband's name...

6 days later... 9:15pm, July 2nd, 2018...for the first time... I watched Some breath their last... and finally die...

Puzzled by how quick and peaceful a painful image thing can be.... It felt so deceitfully wrong... but I knew it was..right..

Donna... You wouldn't come back... even if you could.. you wouldn't

You in a place of paradise... pure perfection... I wont lie... I miss you.. but I know you could never return... you couldn't..

A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.

There are countless stories
living, breathing in my bones
begging to be freed,
piercing the unknown.
Each day conjures a tale
that plays out within my mind,
a world that seems so real to me,
who knows what I may find.
My subconscious divided
between this world and my own;
A thousand lives have settled
and made myself their home.

a smattering of silver freckles
cover her wide eyes
her teeth are made of tin
a tongue that tastes like copper,
razor sharp and thin
her skin is the color of slate
hard and cold and pure
a granite gargoyle skeleton
a dark and gray allure