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Don't write here anymore. Used to. Back when I was a younger man. Before grey hairs and the stains on my teeth and the rings around my bleary eyes. It's a Sunday. God's day, or something. Cup of tea and a newspaper in bed doing my best to shake off last night's dream of werewolves and the stench of disinfectant. Need to take a shit. A big ol' dump ( Read more... ) -
To Suckle a Milky Mother
If anyone were to stumble across this, I now blog at myredabyss.com
I remember the good old days of livejournal- back in 03, 04, 06, 08 etcetera etcetera
I was a lot younger back then, and this place didn't feel like such a tomb. But yeah, I am not dead, and never have been. -
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A prism of divided suns, translucent like dead lovers. Soft machines exploding, all over vanilla-laced flesh. Electrical, chemical, the beauty of fornication. The sensation of a thousand trembling souls, pouring from multiple holes. Raised high between two thighs, the dagger of penetration glistens, it shimmers beneath the million eyes of god. Of ( Read more... ) -
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Drifting aimlessly in the rain, they search for signs of life all night long. Along all those pathways, past all those doors that are never open to them. Out there, the sorrowful ones, falling silently in the dark. Their smiles faded, theirs eyes sunken through years of being lost, they wander unseen in the shadows. So many souls, forgotten like ( Read more... ) -
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Mental Illness. The unraveling nature, of thoughts beyond your control. The way your head eats away, the way it flowers with cancerous thoughts. Dead skin and daydreams, too much saliva and not enough love. Your mind is not your own. It is, gone. There's a poltergeist within your brain, thinking things you don't want it to think. Drifting away, the ( Read more... ) -
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The hours passing slowly, waiting for the ghosts to come. Pacing the floor, the bodies are outlined in chalk. The rain outside ceaseless, aching bones, all too restless. Like the grave, spirits stirring within. Those who have gone before, all they want is to come back, to be warm once more. Being dead is a lonely thing. Death is a solitary pastime ( Read more... ) -
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The trembling walls of pink flesh. Flowers that look like sex organs. Flowers that eat sex organs. Picked clean out, the throbbing nature, of a darkly act. Behind closed doors, beyond the prying eyes of strangers, the things that are to be done. They tickle and sting. Fantastically, they sing, of all things wondrous. The enlargement of throats, the ( Read more... ) -
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Time goes. It flows, and it slows, everything down. There's a place you want to be, but time wont let you, not yet anyway. It rains and it pours, every minute, of every day. Pissing down, the clouds float ever on above your tired head. The days drift along, like ships lost at sea, shipwrecked and missing, eternally. It makes you weary, and it makes ( Read more... ) -
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Further away, you slip into your childhood. Beside yourself with fear, happiness is a relic. The days pass with reluctant uncertainty. Each one a wasted opportunity. The window to your future is boarded shut. Nailed. Hide away, disappear in the rain. Disappear in words. Close your eyes and picture yourself on a beach. Windswept and empty, the waves ( Read more... ) -
All of whom are witches
Limbo blasted into their skulls. Limbo, gushing from their empty eyes then swallowed back into their thirsty mouths. Sockets of bone, crushed and glowing, showing the wonders of nothing. The core of whores, all of whom are witches. Pyramids, introverted cigarette burns a mosaic where she was birthed. Godly babies, swinging from trees, nightmares ( Read more... )