Little luminescent glowes, fire-flies of fyre, dancing round where no one knows, spinning so much hygher. Gentle rocking, off to sleep. Eyelids shut in dreaming. Luminescence sparkling on faerie wings. Lullaby in the darkening whilst the even sings. Rest your head, let The Guardian of nyght keep -you til dawn's gleaming. Unelma antaa siivet [...]
Glass wall - constructed - a last resort against the climate once believed to be home. Does not glass permit some transparency? Still I do not know... If only those outside saw me waving - before, frantically; now, half-heartedly. "I am still here - I have not left you alone in the dark.' But who [...]
Il est facile avoir peur de la route difficile. It is easy to fear the difficult road. Il est facile être silencieux quand tous les autres ont l'avis le plus bruyant. It is easy to be silent when everyone else has the loudest opinion. La neige est belle jusqu'à ce qu'elle devient une avalanche. Snow [...]
Space ''' They say space is quiet but I have a little in my own head and it is deafening. *** Stones ''' 'Sticks and stones may break my bones,' but - I used a rock as a pillow last night. *** Needle ''' It is a small trinket for fabric and thread until it loses [...]
Snakker. Uendelig snakker. Ord. Spørsmål. Hvorerdu og hvaskjer og hvorfor-snakker-du ikke-med-oss -lenger? Har du lyst til å komme til oss i morgen? *Ikke egentlig men* Tusen takk, jeg må gjøre ting hjemme. *sitter på gulvet stirrer på vegger* Gråter skyene svart regn?
A sick-minded slashing churning and fueling your venom of hate - And I have bled for your deceit. You are the enemy loathing your fate - The pierced Hand has crushed you. *** I was going to merely post this liten-linje and be done with it. But, it seemed a bit disappointing to say nothing [...]
Eyes behind which circle many thoughts like wolves - unearthed in harsh dissonance to bitter cry of broken being; thoughts - prowling behind bleeding stares at soft stars - that bruise the cynical darkness. The scarred are the strongest fighters.
Spinning spheres of hollowness, drifting ghosts of neon-washed, white-faced, candle-lit beauties; one hand hesitating, drawing back, from the gentle light; what we long for, we shun, clutching the black with the other. Ach, would that each saw the picture. Sometimes, one only seems to grasp sharp-edged puzzle pieces.
Dear depression, I wish you could see the view from here. It's not so high as it is grand, because, broken mortal that I am, I have not reached the top. It's quite stunning, in a calming, relieving, beautiful way, on the other side of the valley. You hate me, I know, for in some [...]
Is fyre truly, always, orange, amber, red, furious? We think it can only smoulder and rage and roar. We think one can only be seared by its pain. What if, perhaps, I have been burned - am being burned alive - but I am, slowly, ever slowly, beginning to see that the fyre, sometimes, wears [...]