Ember Why does time, in all its wisdom, not stamp out our stubborn spark? Despise the flighty smolder that swells when our souls trip into each other. Fight? Flight? Freeze? Fawn? Want these basic embers gone. Employ fifth F... facade. Walk behind the ancient, unmoved mask. Let me lust fires fairer than this. Constellation Here we stand in surging lands of bullies, baggage, and ramblers. Our trek has forked. Our birds take flight. We soar into opposite nights. I am leery, lonely, lost. I wish you well. I wish you grace. I wish you find your perfect place. Only moon and stars connect us now. We have become the constellation Chrysalis.
Dreams from September 19th. A Shell Grave golden. Veins shriveled. Spirits ragged, as jagged as the twisting, turning trails. Bare soles scrape cross banks and beds of iridescent disaster. Suffer glorious torture. Search for salvation in but one unfragmented shell. Show Seduced by gaudy glimmers and fair fueled glee. Contraptions groan. Barkers yip. Music ebbs and flows, drowns out crows, cats, and other creeping souls... like me. Dare we sink into the shoddy arms of pendulums and scramblers?