beyond the vortex of comprehension, I stand deserted.
On a foggy street, even the dimmest streetlights seem bright. Cloaked figures engage in toxic espionage, lost in the shadows of the alleyway.
I welcome the coming age with an open mind and a pen full of truth. The mere act of creation is something of power,that I cannot deny. Therefore,when I write I am sure to be as honest as possible without losing my enigma. There is a certain magic about leaving your audience mystified…enchanted.
everything he touches turns to ash, and the phoenix is never on time.
In the theatre of the mind,you are your own worst critic.
Weak for weeks and dazed for days. This is the self-description of a no hit wonder,who was anticipating cleaning up pieces of something he hadn’t dropped. It began to slip out of his palms,only to be caught at the last second. Nice save Romeo.
lost angels embrace tangled. torn between heroic dreams and evil schemes,they exist conflicted. quarantined from their zombified inner selves, their minds wander in an isolated purgatory. try to defeat lies and reside where peace flies…
are we all just single sparks inside of a spectral fire,or pieces of the vast universe destined to become stars?
no one gets out alive.
reality doesn’t make sense in fragments.
- above ground,
- hovering carefully.
- rapid heartbeat,harp-strings resonate around me.
- feeling like I just gained the ability to hear…
- I think you might be music.
