when it's past midnight, fearful sorrows rust and tongues sharply halt with nothing, nothing at all at the sleeves of darkness
Friday, August 3, 2012
i'm not sure what i'm waiting for: perhaps some ancient writing recipe that will quench my lisping letters; for some shadows to disentangle and awaken a deep and sleek silvery dance across the screen; for a sober wind to lift me up and out of these limping, listless nights; for the lonely lights to catch the running stranger who cannot remember my name; whatever it may be, i need to write.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
i heard their testimonies: how their lives were carved by ancient darkness, that they slept on stones shrouded by tales of deceit and dishonour, that they bathed in the hum of tear drops. then their whispers came to an end, and we found foreign sounds escaping temporarily--laughter.