Feeling this today. Exploring once more, the deep spaces, dark spaces.

Tales of Black-Winged Night

Pandora.  Her box is vast and deep as it is wide.  Secrets and demons bubble inside, like hot, molten tar,  sputtering and hissing.  Latching onto the sides and climbing, desperately seeking freedom.  Seeking release from their cage.  Single goal, to seek, conquer and destroy all those waiting on the other side.  The lid remains shut.  Sealed up tight, save for one crack.  One tiny little crack which buildup has worn down over the ages.  Disaster seeps out.  Drop, by devastating drop.  Pandora’s box  may not ever be opened, but her demons will find release.

It’s a certain kind of darkness I am after.  Down in the trenches of the human psyche, there lay a pit.  Darkness and desire pool and rise, seeking to take over the chambers of the heart.  Seeking to pervert the sweetest and simplest of emotions, and twist them into something more.  Something complex,  bitter.  An emotion…

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In Which the Poet Recalls the Past

She rakes a nail down her thigh
Flesh pulls, tears, opens
Blood beads along jagged line
Her memories swirl and writhe
As they surface from the pit
Of her mind, finding freedom
Reveling in their escape
Jagged lines, beaded blood
No physical pain matches
Distracts her heart from
The agony, the hopelessness
Running free within her mind,
Hidden deep within her memories.


“Breathe.” She said,
And I remembered what it felt like to be alive.

“Breathe.” She said,
And I remembered breath is needed to sustain life,
So long I had been dwelling in the emptiness
Which hangs between life and death
Not wanting to live, but not ready to die
Devoid of wanting, empty of passion
The nothing space, visited only
By sadness and fear

“Breathe.” She said,
And I filled my lungs with air,
Felt my soul rush back into this body