Nothing left We all remember. We remember what is no more. It began when we started acting funny. Us and them. Them first. On a hot awakening of unnatural dry winds and eerie bubbles of silence (or a cold one, elsewhere, but still eerie and …Read more →
Thief. You steal into the supple night
To pick and plunder. Shadows split,
Perhaps you deal in your own light.
Rune or sortilege? That is it!
I dream. Must be, for now the bland,
Prostrated body commands no vigil,
Allows the treacherous, craven hand
To rip a heart out by dark sigil.
Mine! Pitted, jet like eyes of raven
Is now this chest that aches, so dry.
She has the beat with her, my fair maiden.
I let her in to live. Now I die.