Sunday, 26 July 2015

solo




there is a part of his heart that is damp and dark and covered in mossy leaves that smell of soil and moonlight and if you brush your fingers across the acrid mulch it will part with a soft moist squelching sound and you will find buried deep within the pungent corruption a timid and a frightened creature with large liquid eyes and a hot desire to love and to be loved and also a creature with a savage bite and a wicked claw that it uses to rake a protest and to scar the heathen world with its fear and its fury and its loathing and its singular lack of comprehension for so brutal and ugly an existence. the stars spin and the oceans rise and life goes on relentlessly and remorselessly claiming victims in a vortex of unfeeling and disquiet as though all humanity can be reduced to a set of improbable whispers echoed in the still silence of a sterile dawn that blinks blindly into the shattered dream of universal longing.




1 comment:

transience said...

if i were there, or you here, i would hold out my hands to you...just to (maybe) bridge that gap, that space in between.