 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Just so they don't all have to have their own pages, here are some little short thing i've written, compiledin an nice, easy to read format, yay! | ||||||||
| The air hangs with crystals; they sway, glittering, away. This path of ice, this crack in the cold, it is all I can remember and all that I can imagine. It leads on forever into this black that is not night. Forever into the velvet, I know, but here is a door, here is a stop without a stop. So faded and hole-pocked, on I should see, but through the wooden rents: Black, black, nothing and nowhere this leads. I can travel this path for the rest of time, but here, right here, I will remain. | ||||||||
| On and on they follow Swirling, glittering pieces of what They move in the wake of our macabre dance They envelope as we fall Fall down onto this place Spires of glass, stop stop, we hang Valleys of crystalline death we drift From beneath this earth, this dirt of decay They dig, they scrape, they thrust Their white, their shine, stop stop, we breathe Into their grasp we sink, we sigh Into their hold we succumb. |
||||||||
| The red of the falling sun sifts through the bare branches, painting her like a canvas. She is perfect and fragile, like porcelain, she is cold and silent, frozen. But as I hope her amidst the stone angels and the tombs, she is everything. I stroke her pallid face and can�t help but think, what if none of this had ever happened? What if she could caress me back? My beauty, my exquisite, she had left this painted shell, leaving me with nothing. The stillness of her is unsettling; the day dies all around us. I touch the hand that I used to love to my mouth, I shift the body onto the bed of decaying leaves and walk away. She can�t just be gone, she has to be somewhere. That cold stranger can�t be all that is left. Where does it all go? | ||||||||