"serum" poems
my test results showed divergent.
but she told me not to talk about it,
at least not here, or anywhere. ever.
he told me i could not be found about. never.
but they did, they eventually did.
they injected me- with serums, different kinds of them.
and i became their ultimate little experiment gem.
one of a kind.
every stimulation- every serum injected, i denied.
i was useless.
but then he came - my love. my Four. my Tobias
to my rescue.
i promised. not to put myself into danger,
like as i always did.
but i could not let him die. Caleb. my brother. my blood.
i had to save them. all of them.
death serum.
i could. resist.
but before that- he picks up a fight -
wounded in his wheel chair. paralyzed.
but still manages to, that little twa -
stab.
pain.
i see bloo-
thick red blo-
mom? but you're dea-
it's okay sweety, she says.
where am i?
in a better place.
you gave up your life Tris- for them.
i died?
yes honey, you died, an allegiant.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Always in the spotlight,
but coddled by the darkness
A bright, colorful flower
that never wanted to bloom
She pulled the sheer, black curtains
over her eyes,
welcoming the night
An arrow shooting into the Midnight moon
swallowed whole by wicked sin
Flirting with the Devil
and soaking in the evil serum
She turned her face away from
the beacon in the night
never to return again
Leaving to the world
just a ghost of a little girl
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
You breathed gin.
This is blood for you.
Your hands held your hair and your eyes shut.
The alcohol lulled your brain to black.
It escaped your veins,
Diluted by 37.5% truth serum.
Gasping at the
Divine realisation
Where slurred lips
Contradicted
Your once straight-faced,
Certainly-certain speakings
Of your very crooked lie.
So crooked, it wound his heart around yours.
But that ball of yarn unravelled in an instant.
And the jumper you knit together,
Came apart
Stitch by stitch.
In my fogged memory,
I had choked myself that night
With a bottle and a ball of yarn.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
Preventing contamination,
A constant challenge in cell culture.
Contamination not only affects,
The culture in question and,
Costs time and money,
But also endangers the reproducibility of results.
No cell culture problem,
Is as universal as that of culture loss
Due to contamination.
Generally, contamination may be separated,
Into categories of microbial,
And eukaryotic contamination.
Examples of microbial contamination include:
Bacteria (including Mycoplasma),
Fungi and yeast;
Eukaryotic contamination includes:
Cross-contamination with other cell lines.
Bacteria, yeast and fungi,
The three more common types of contamination,
But luckily these forms are often detectable,
Under the microscope and,
By visual cues,
Like colour or turbidity changes in the medium.
Mycoplasma is a small genus of bacteria,
That lack a cell wall and for this reason,
They remain unaffected by common antibiotics.
They are also difficult to detect,
With standard microscopes,
Due to their size, about 0.1 μm in diameter,
And the fact that they often attach to host cells.
To prevent contamination,
Use 70% ethanol for disinfecting,
Equipment & surfaces,
Related to cell culture.
Sterile filter the media first,
Before bringing to the lab.
Fetal Bovine Serum,
A potential source of contamination,
Contains mycoplasma.
Filter it at 0.1 μm, or,
Gamma irradiate it.
Aseptic technique,
Necessary.
The laboratory workers be the last,
But not the least source of contamination.
Teach them the ideal laboratory practices,
To ensure asepticity in a laboratory.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
Your white bosoms releasing that white serum.
That curvaceous mound feeds humanity,
That makes the biggest humanity via motherhood wisdom.
Your pink ******* arousing that tempest blood.
That soft hill becoming hard,
That hardens which heightens the adulthood.
Your black ***** taming sin.
That concealed shape popping out to provoke,
That provokes to **** feminism in mean.
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 12:43 AM UTC
Taste me with all of your senses
Inhale my essence......breathe me in deep.....
Darkness pressed against hunger..
Sliding my tongue, I drew it in like a feast
Savouring the taste as it passed my lips...
Shadows cast silken threads
Screaming desire!
Spinning silken webs around my body,
Searing my skin, as hot breath spilled itself
Against my salted flesh...
Moisture and heat fused,
Savage, pulsating, lingering, where wicked hovered
Sleek, against my heart’s beat...
Black satin shivered beneath wildfire hips;
Slow dancing a sweetened heat,
Writhing beneath the shimmer-gleam;
As I lay for him, lathed by the parched desert of his
Relentless tongue...wearing me wet....
I moaned across his taut flesh,
Strewn beneath the sliding wander of skin thrusts,
Drowning in a plum-dark eclipse of heat!
Where tenderness lay opened for him...
Teasing breaths rushed kisses between thighs
Quivering,
Wanting to break free, the restraints,
Stretching my body beneath his tasting..
I felt the essence beating ****** tempo's,
Passion succumbing to insatiable need;
And I gave him my body's silk-white,
Trembling under the furtive delirium of our fever...
The fierce moon eclipsed
A serum to slide my quickened breath;
And his eyes watched, deep in dark, unchanging depths,
As I lay naked in his arms....................
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
I am unsure of the geology
of where you’re from.
I expect there exists
shelves and sheaths
pale grey-yellow
like serum in the blood
and rocks resembling
sun-weathered lobster
carapaces.
all of this enclosed by
a festoon of green pine—
its regalia cut sonic
and naked
wrung and wrung again
by august.
on the edge
a cabin is hemmed on
the skirt of ocean—
spikes of molding logs
propped and resting
akimbo.
a wave comes in.
a wave goes out.
a wave stays to shake
your hand.
introduces itself as
sensate verge
and wonderment.
home.
I can only imagine what
it is for you.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
When Ebola’s fever begins to rage,
The prognosis isn’t nice,
Monoclonal antibodies
are needed from three mice.
The mice must first become exposed
to a weakened viral strain.
Their antibodies harvested
and combined with those of man.
Strangely the proteins that we need
are grown best in a ****
A modified tobacco plant
will do the job indeed.
The serum, that derives from plants,
had not had human trials.
(but eight of ten young chimpanzees
endorse what’s in that vial.)
Our missionaries, sick unto death
were clearly in no position
to refuse to try the medicine
that might provide remission.
Their rebound was miraculous.
To Atlanta now they fly.
Man finds himself in debt to a mouse.
“Good job, little guy!”
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
I'm just getting in the bath,
Someone else wrote the letter,
I don't want to make a. Mess.
Draw me the water
I point at the tap
Burden no family
Hold my head under icecaps.
Merkel Cells, diluted sensation,
The end of fingertips cant feel your
Flesh.
Shriveling in the cold,
Shivering to stop freezing,
But I cant. What am I doing?
Can I want this now, errectores pilorum erected.
Have I set motion to,
Cogs in a watch I cant adjust.
my lungs mark absolute zero
this is me sitting in chemistry class
english
10th grade
asking sam to suffocate with me
every alvioli is pinned by ****** as thick as knitting needles
my chest is permafrost
my sternum, antarctica
the ribs hollow out
capillary beds lose all the haem
out of their erythrocytes
I'm losing St. Elmo's Fire.
The baths still panting out,
Water roars, gushing spout.
Proud the current sweeps me through,
The porcelain lining this white hell bathroom.
It's bone cannot hide from my blood,
As if I'm isotope 226 of Radium.
Heat seeking marrow.
My serum is Hodgkins Lymphoma,
Tearing through sheeting tile,
Like a young cancer child,
Afflicted,
Leukemia,
No chance,
No good blood left,
To let.
Soon, it will all be gone, and the rivers that
freeze in my arms, and the ribs that are icicles
form, and the atrial canal is not like Venice,
it is the Rhine in winter, the Volga during
the solstice.
Spring will never come again.
Spring slipped its head into the bath water, like my own.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Along a narrow, vacant street at 2 a.m.
Underneath the threatening lights of peril
An act of ******** was taking place between
A beautiful cigarette and the orifice of my lips
Halloween had not yet dawned upon us
Yet as I walk Jack-O-Lanterns smile at me
Displaying minor quakes of bloodthirsty evil
While a serum of scorn soaks my tongue
With a heartless trick of ice, cold malice
Summoning the entire town to its kneecaps
Devils regurgitate lullabies resembling the sound
Of nails ****** a chalkboard sparing no mercy
Arousing the hopeless romantics
To awaken a graveyard
And **** the corpses until they're
Resurrected from their comas
As the nymphomaniacs ice
Their frozen flesh with *****
Painting an ocean of abstract thoughts
Across the edges of their frames of mind
Do morticians make up the majority
Of necrophilia related crimes?
Maybe so but, I bet they had never felt
A ****** so dry and so cold
Yet still the thrill of chills tickle these criminal's spines
While they measure their screams careful not to awaken
The beautifully disgusting corpses that lie before them
They turn their heads only to find a pair of scarlet eyes
Gawking at them from within a cowardly shield of fear
Darkness was it's home, Mother to all its desires
In my opinion it was just a phase; A massacre encaged
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 4:12 AM UTC
Lilies and wine.
You're drunk with love.
And night's all shine.
So you starve and you crave.
Just a little bit more of Cupid's touch.
Puffed smoke hearts surrounding the time.
Present once more the universe sparks in your soul.
Lousy noises melting into harmonies so fine.
Lilies and wine.
You're drunk with love.
And night's all shine.
Your heart's secreting the serum of life.
Love is filling the hourglass of your time.
Now the pearl has found its light.
No pressure but weightlessness abounds.
Lilies and wine.
You're drunk with love.
And night's all shine.
Hold on firecely, lose yourself in beautiful time.
Tears of love and joy heal your wounds.
Flowers all fine, one you are, floating on air.
Swept out of reason, but your heart is too fine.
Lilies and wine.
You're drunk with love.
And night's all shine.
Capture the flower in your arms.
And drink the serum like wine.
Love is uplifting, and bare, taking you swiftly.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 3:54 AM UTC
Tribal maternal's terrace
***** by carnivorous shipmen
Earth over ran
By Marxist's and ditty wit's!!!
Hold thine lingo
Release thy spit
Oh vertebrate of underworld grief...
Tend to thine flock
Cut thine beef,
As in the cattle thou hath becometh...
For the serum doth runneth
Wherein thine swords becameth thy first choice....
Where is thy voice?
God of technology
Made science thy hobby
Made gentlewoman thy footstool......
As thou hath runneth a muck
And made thy queen thy second elect!!!!
For I just bet
That thineself shalt lose to all thy debts....
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
To the one who hosts competitions…
Which ******* gave you the right?
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)
Who said you could take such liberties?
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it
Just one, because I want you to see…
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…
I still have a few things to run you over with.
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle
Such a fitting exercise. For you.
You have become what you really are.
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.
Lets get down to business, shall we?
I hate you. You know why.
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.
Then I will administer XXXX XXX
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the ******* the wrists….etc….
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Tell me what you know and don't hold back.
I want to know the secrets
that shade your soul.
I want you to love my darkest hours
and the days I want so badly to disappear.
Please don't make me regret loving you,
make me regret lusting after you.
Make me regret the decision to stay
and please regret your decision to stray.
You told me you loved me when you were drunk
and I guess I believed you because whiskey is
a sort of truth serum.
You know that well enough now from all the nights
I'd stumble home and into your arms,
telling you everything through teardrops and
cigarette breath.
I don't know why you still loved me after that.
And I'm starting to think that maybe you didn't.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
Contempress,
Red mouthed darkness,
You weave your webs and spit out death,
Serum of poison lies in between your chest,
I cannot reach in for that coffin lies my rest.
I spread your ashes across my skin,
Black out my eyes and begin to fall,
Across my eyelids I feel you crawl,
In my head,
Inside my brain,
The serum of you,
A sweet taste of pain.
A widow of you,
The shadows across the weave,
Pull out your infecting vangs,
Leave all to grieve.
A widow of you beautiful and divine.
You, yourself, are on an hour glass of time.
Oh crimson red!
Her hourglass of dread!
You cannot pray upon the living dead,
The soulless walkers in which you crawl right inside.
With you red widow,
You divide,
Heaven or Hell where will you reside?
Vain in you I abide!
When will this web go?
Time is the enemy,
Young or Old,
Beauty is forever,
Externally resting in our soul.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
I ask you to show me art.
Tear the normal apart.
Weary first impressions, I want to see you fall apart.
Smeared make-up like smeared paint on the artist hand.
Let’s save time and truly start.
I have notebooks full of holes.
Little do we know until one shows.
Their insides spilling out insights.
Spark an incent, in a instance, the smoke clears the tense and suspense out of a safe room where your nature can be exposed.
A cup containing wine acts like a truth serum.
Songs meaning equal same rhythms.
Candle light dancing paradigm.
Here we will meet on the same page.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
i know i told everyone i hated you, but oh, baby
alcohol will not fill the hole i left.
you can pour as much ***** down your throat as you want but if it tasted like my name after two shots, it will still taste like my name after twelve.
oh, baby
alcohol, contrary to popular belief, is not a truth serum.
it will not cure your compulsive lying, it will not provide you with a newfound empathy for others.
liquor is not a cure, it does not make you better, it makes you worse.
oh, baby
alcohol does not make you forget.
four days after i found out about you and her and all the lies, you sent me 80 drunk texts begging me to return to your abusive relationship. do not tell me that alcohol makes you forget.
i've never drunk texted you but it only takes my drunk self 15 minutes at a party to find a boy to fill your role for the night. seven shots later and i'm holding this boys hand and he's holding me up - i did not forget that he was not you, i merely remembered that i was alone.
alcohol does not make you forget.
oh, baby
alcohol will not help your grades.
i heard that your new study partner is named smirnoff, i know textbooks don't have blonde hair and soft lips but i promise they would make a better replacement than that bottle.
oh, baby
alcohol will not make you nicer.
drunk texting me that this is all my fault for being so jealous is not endearing. calling her a ***** is not endearing. falling over is not endearing.
baby, alcohol will not make people like you more.
oh, baby
i know that you are carrying some baggage but alcohol will not make them lighter, alcohol will not make them more colorful, alcohol will not make them more valuable.
it will not help, it is not appealing, ***** breath is not a cool accessory.
i am never coming back, but the boy i fell in love with is inside of you somewhere and he does not deserve to be treated like this.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
There is something to be said for the beat of the song that can become the rhythm of my heart.
For a minute I can forget what I'm trying not to remember,
and the chaos of my mind slows enough so that I can finally find a ******* smile,
I've practically forgotten they exist,
yet here they are,
underneath a heavy blanket of bitterness that has permanently clouded my mind since then...
God bless the melody thats crashes in my eardrums,
and the lyrics that wash over me as I breathe them in.
I can taste the sound on my tongue and it leaves me speechless.
My bloodstream isn't even drowning in a 70 proof serum,
but here I am
dancing underwater from toe to fingertip in a sea of musical notes
and right now
everything
is
almost
okay
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Brave heart beating
stronghold of life
keeper of stories
Lie in waiting
The soundless tracking
His heart beats as mine
Truth serum silence
knowing him familiar
his shadow crosses mine
Counting galaxies
existential worries
my wheels alight alone
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
inhale, breathe,
let it go....
strike a match,
let it flow...
give it air, space,
give it something sweet to taste...
feeling the air, humidity,
sticky moments here with me...
shadows looming, pouring like rain
effort put forth [again and again]
inhale-- breathe... let it go...
my feelings, my therapy,
ALL in what i see.
rise, fall-- shadows looming
flowing in awe, giving the air that sweet taste--
of the sweet serum on my face...
eyes open wide, full of suprise....
so strike a match, let it flow,
give it air, have a taste,
oh-- i can imagine the look on your face.
speaking of memories--
happy, sad, a few inbetween
its always interesting-- what they do to me.
shadows calling, continuing--
cliffhanger, devour me!
humid, hot, sticky--
fresh, clever--
enveloped in my senses
caught in delight..
just--
watching...
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
Anticipating discomfort
as high heels climb stairs
with light steps to avoid clicks.
Attempt to dodge the cigarette brigade
with quick nods and hellos.
Finally on their floor with labored breathing.
They are so loud- heard down the hall.
Behind the door there are friends
waiting for the next best topic.
Greeting friends,
drunk and drinking more.
Open the door to
loud friends,
laughing over each others voices.
The only thing worse than the clamor
is the spilt stout that nobody noticed.
But hugs and wise cracks are still in order.
Holding hands with a cup of speaking serum,
with eyes that already seek a clock.
It's too early, we've only just got here.
Obligation to talk.
Spy the lascivious in peripherals-
in the corners of the room.
What languid lovers narcotics make.
High stakes with low gains,
leaves mouths with ****** tastes.
Words exchanged in witty waste.
Spy the conversations that selective hearing
couldn't rid
about you- about him, about them
and the trouble we're in.
Avoid eye-contact, but answer to
"What's going on with you? New job?"
with a smile and a nod and an "It's cool."
Burning desire for an air
without so many ****** breaths.
Someone is hurling in the bathroom-
and friends are singing desperation.
Tap toes and fidget,
avoid more conversation.
Everyone is so involved, now.
Gravitating around the life
of the party.
The foyer's empty.
A platinum opportunity.
Fake a bathroom break.
Apartments don't have back-doors,
and comings a regret.
Slip past the lazy leg bridges.
No one's looking yet.
In between coffee tables and couches.
No one's looking, yet.
but some are rising for the night trips
of cancer indulgence.
Jet for the door and ever so
silently
close it when you're beyond
for relief.
The air is already colder-
slip off the heels and run barefoot
in to the rest of the night,
safe and alone with yourself
and your secrets.
Ignore the question texts.
Houdini?
Disappearing acts.
No, you're Candy.
you don't let them in your heart.
Ignore the question texts,
don't explain yourself next time either.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Why can't my liver filter thoughts like it does with alcohol?
It would save me the trouble of all the money I've spent to free myself of bad decisions,
There is so much formality within a sober moment, while my drunkenness speaks freely,
My brain doesn't erase moments like alcohol does, yet my liver puts up a fight reminding me to think,
Fantasizing over an image created by theses slurred and blurred overzealous eyes,
I am attracted to bars like teachers are to mls style, and to this day I'm still not sure which one has been more beneficial.
Looking down the road of allowing glass, I measured my state of mind to pick my poison,
Tequila adds a flower to a withering soul, ***** snuffs out the light where it gets to bold, whiskey fakes the fight with its bros, while gin loosens the bones and wine your emotions, at last we have beer a truth serum more powerful than love,
What they all take is feeling, a small price to learning what we see in the refection is really something we refuse to collude with.
My liver is always amazed, the amount of control I give to it, whilst the hand with a drink in it stays steady,
The other acquires shame, controlled by a freedom of released inhibitions,
If I could escape the safety of the dinner lights for the missing love that I thought drive me here,
My liver is alone, in the battle, like one soldier who's realized that their command center threw them into a death trap and their enemies are mindless zombies of fallen memories,
My toast is not alone, followed by smiles and condolences, significant enough to convince everyone, maybe one more.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
Quiet and uneasy.
The voiceless breeze at my back was thickly draped with irregular design.
There I was... staring at my warped reflection in the remoteness ahead of me.
A revelation violated my over crowded mind and before I could even fathom my displacement,
the moon started melting.
As if calling out to werewolves, the hypnotizing moon started dripping moonlight.
Glowing moon drops crashed to the ground and I found myself surrounded by the dreams of a thousand kings.
Beyond the limitations of clockwork, I found myself surrounded and under siege by the visions of a thousand visionaries.
There I was.
A captive to crowns of light.
Taken.
A hostage to a deserted kaleidoscope of angelic halos...
So many blinding halos, all riddled with hidden wisdom and rare moon drop truth.
Halos infected with unfound secrets handed over to the chosen...
Secrets handed over by the masters of celestial emptiness themselves.
Like euphoric dreams within our nightmares...
the same nightmares found within our lost dreams...
The same lost and misunderstood dreams that dwell within a moon drops angelic halo.
Rare truth and untouched wisdom were just too pure for reality.
It would take the hallucinations of a thousand truth serums for us to conceive thier virtue.
Gene
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC