A New House

A Walk in the mist and I can't remember who I once was. Disregard my temptations, smoked filled lungs and half broken smile. That's why I can not place in my mind who I will be. A feeling is only reliable when the rushing atmosphere clings upon its silver chest, a chaos of mercury. Alchemy revolves around coffee these days and not the tarnished soul. Man and woman, infancy welcomes the new child into the arms of the black sun in the arms of the hollow moon. Poke through the sand a warm house and a nice view. It will soon be dark, you will soon leave and behind you will only be left a basket of knives, few bullets and a pomegranate grenade. The youngsters pooped these as pills back in the day. It used to be followed by alcohol and passing the joint to the rabbit next to you. To Run like hell from the monster and I still couldn't recall who I was here for. A glow heats from the core of the Carbon atom, block upon cell and bone retracted disfiguration. Come sit with me. Remember with me. Can you see who you once was? Swift and sway, sit silently, diligently pound your fists on your memory. The storm is coming.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we can live in as many new houses as possible...but the view from the window will still be the same...
and the memories of what we lived through will be in an unopened closet, just waiting
for us to open that door and remember what we try so hard to forget...
new real-estate can never replace the blemishes of the past.
j.

[NonsenseTyper]

Thank you, j.
Indeed, we remember what we try so hard to forget and Forget what we try so hard to remember, No matter the house.

[light and ashes]

very very well written....

[Red Brick Keshner]

Oh but what kind of storm is really relevant the one inside or the typical one on the outside! Good stuff.

[barleygirl]

This is some of the best abstract prose I've read here at the cafe. Usually I'm clueless when reading most abstract writing, but yours seems deliberate, as if you have a storyline in mind, offering tidbits of imagery to paint the reader along the path you might wish to take him/her. It's not random disconnected abstractness . . . the rich tapestry you weave pours out ideas about this journey (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[NonsenseTyper]

Thank you, Margie for your Kind and constructive words :)
((((((HUGS)))))))

[Lacey Sue]

This almost had me in tears I don't know why, but it was so freakin amazing

[NonsenseTyper]

Thank you, Hazel
Tears are Sacred :)

[John the Baptist]

This is what you would have if you mixed Satre, The Book of Revelation and LSD and had the result painted by Dali.

[NonsenseTyper]

A Very dangerous potion, Indeed!