Paths

how they live on, these whispering voices that don't belong to the dead. the living side step rocky paths with looming shadows, never catching the tint.

one serpent hissed to the other, in a competition to swallow the venerable prey who held himself in high regards, to the lowly wretch who no longer cared to change, to the neutral diplomat trying to tamper

first blank slate, ink drops become words taught by whoever carries the reins breaking or loosened. though belief recreates magnetic pulls no longer attractive.

is filled with. i. short changed? - come tither, the devil knows you deserve more, forget that name, it is just a wrong verdict on one whose heart matches

customary back and forth like the sea tossing a hi five - barely registers on the inside when wrapped springs coil with increasing tension even though the words coming out is still like free flowing wine. more sir? a nod, absent minded behavior, inertia carries forth this act slowly sinking awareness

void, vacant heart - delayed response, the pursuit is on. with imaginary gods steadfast, but the faustian bargain becomes it's own mocking laughter played back. and suffering was the road avoided,

heat then coldness. the aftermath felt like being stuck too long in the catacombs; i hid beneath the gray oak tree - spellbound when snowflakes began to leak into vision blurry. the coldness became a knife that gripped, clutched a door screaming as hinges scraped raw flesh bleeding. the earthworm wiggled out from moist

can sometimes be confused as the i. the i tried to capture - heaven. in a bottle. in a glance, in a treasure box whisked away; a coin thrown into the well and the well does not grant wishes. a hallucination, a delusion, felt quite real - us arms in arms up the hill: and time stops. i wished time stopped.

and i bet you it is not anything the stars said, the stars like to lie, especially on important things such as these. it is calculated between two knots, that stretch of time is all it takes to make a nod, the same speech carried here, becomes a death sentence just across the garden. you know, the flowers that

a service on a plate, with dressing on the side. yesterday it was caustic, today quite mellow. the smile only comes when there is splashes of silver at the other end; tit for tat, numbers are crunched the moment