 |
The self is a curious thing.
|
 |
And
there he was, on the precipice, feet on the very edge. Before him
sprawled out the world, a place of misty silvers, oceanic blues and pine
..
|
 |
This place is a wretched cageAn inflamed cystUpon which we are destined to die, doomed to ageA world not run by love but by metal fistsA ruddy thing t..
|
 |
Pain is not affliction; it is the cure.
|
 |
The dream is a state of all-being. You are here, there, everywhere. You are yourself, someone else, something you want to be, everything you can be.
|
 |
I feel empty inside.
|
 |
A gibberish poem.
|
 |
..... and then he saw it; the main force of the enemy: a black swarm
against the vicious white backdrop of midwinter's frost. The Black Army
of G..
|
 |
Part one.
|
 |
Any takers?
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This