gracesea
of him with teethy grins and childish pretences, glinting softly he whispers in one word abut don't know what he says, it lies he screams, it lies down with them in the pit, smiling
rumbling softly in the distance the dansette vibrations tingly softly over drums as taught as a old skin. she smiles quietly and you can't hear her but whispered through caresses are her words and meanings and thoughts
wrapped in winged darkness his feathers are crooked and cold, burnt onto his papery skin. Bone holded and light as tissue, he'll have to leave soon. He will go and soar over the rooftops of grey London monotones, passed where the trees and tears stretch to mother Sun and Heathrow jets hover like bluebottles.
Distant and gone, here for only one second and then out of reach, I can see you in the distance but stretching out my hand I can't grasp yours. Now alone and cold the winters frost fingers pull me into a deep embrace and wrap around my bones like old ivy.
It was dropped slyly into the conversation and the realisation crept up like a noontime shadow in a desert until it hung below the words, bat-heavy and dripping with uneasiness. The sister words were tainted with its colour, a deep midnight, a witching hour glaze so carefully created to just be thrown down amongst the more trivial subjects.
and it came into my head before then was even considered. And I knew that the liquid intoxication would spill through my bones and into my words showing immediately that I had just got home and was drunk.
Silent yet ever-present, looming over that broken man, smiling sinisterly whilst children plot to over throw them, lining up toy soldiers and horses for the incoming battle from above. Seeking control and power yet hiding from blame, subtly interwoven into our culture. Cut them out and you cut off your own arm.
he is there but oh so transcient, made of smoke in the evening light, dim, but you can see him despite being able to see through him. He lives in my nightmares and in all my most beautiful dreams and when I wake I can feel the lack of his presence, cold and hollow behind me.
pictured on the coffee table, nude and bare boned, fleshed out with fingers and sinewy strands. coloured in with tear droplets and whispered over boiled water, steam forming shoulder blades in the crisp morning.