You will know him by his wake--
quivering beasts and quaking monsters.
His weapon is memory--
and only your soul can save you.
you would sell it to be rid of him--
it is that which makes you a man.

what horrors, what fraud. what shortsighted miswisdom it was, to watch the horizon. what failure. what loss.

the brain of my joy is preoccupied; for the moment i rely on the joy of my liver.

umber and celdaon; burgundy-black ( Read more... )

johnny junk
sat on a slippery skunk
when he noticed his blunder, he got in a funk
he couldn't believe how much every part of his body stunk
if sitting on good smells like flowers and things were a test, then surely, johnny would not fail.

because the fuels that now power me are more perfect than fusion

I died in the Dungeon of Mikey451

I was killed in a rubble-strewn cave by Ninjamafia the troll, whilst carrying...

a Figurine of Mikey451 and 0 gold pieces.

Score: 25
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this morning i looked in an old tin for a smell i knew i would find. first taking in the sensation of the colored lines on its lid, i peeled it open and waited to feel the time wherein the scent of its contents was such a part of my life, but there was only this anonymous nostalgia; long winded drear, a back-number recollection so freshly on the ( Read more... )

why is my camera in hodgkins, il? depart! depart!

i'm beginning to tire of my underappreciated acrobatic routine of kicking myself when i'm down. is this feeling i have still boredom, or has it crept across classifications to someplace in the realm of pain?