Inevitable Free Fall

We’ve all experienced that familiar descent into a never ending slumber, even craved it. An inevitable free fall. A way down from this world into the black abyss of nothing and everything. A complete, untethered release from all of this life’s restraints straight down. … Keep reading…

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I Used to Create…

I would sit with my notebooks and pens and they would paint entire planes of existence almost as if they had their own intentions and purpose and I was the instrument being utilized. Now the the ink has dried…

Such beautiful worlds and have the most interesting conversations all on my own. I would sit with my notebooks and pens and they would paint entire planes of existence almost as if they had their own intentions and purpose and I was the instrument being utilized. Now the ink has dried and when the pen moves across the page I have to force it leaving behind only scars and torn pages with no consistent depth or meaning.

It’s sad.

All of my work, my beautiful mind, my creations reduced to an arid desert. More than that and yet less. Emptiness. But not the aesthetic emptiness of space between the stars and galaxies. This is the emptiness of nothing. Cold and black, heartless and without soul.

How do I climb out of this pit?

Confessing to Murder

I dream of killing you, my hands entwined around your pale throat, veins bulging from your face like writhing worms, blood vessels bursting lightning strikes across the whites of your eyes as the last breath escapes your cold lips. You are the inheritor of my vengeance, the murderer of my innocence, the keeper of the key to my prison of rage. Fury flows like fire through my veins at the faintest whisper of your name just as a spell from a wizard’s lips ignites the æther into being.

You’ll never know the sting of an empty home, the … Keep reading…