It’s desperate and choking, gasping for air and measuring the distance in the dark.
An escapade in the multiverses of what we call our minds and it’s withering, writhing, struggling.
Take a gasp, breathe it out slowly, count your blessings and take the blade.
A pistola as a tool. Writing, scraping, gouging at the fabric of mettle we call our souls agonizing.
Take the ink and let it pour, let the torrential falls take over and head way for what’s to come.
An excising of barbs and metal from what is ours, the heart, the mind. Let it free.
C’est La Vie
NOSCE TE IPSUM
Dream Dark Stories 