I was going through some old things, and came across an old journal of mine, it was the one from when I was going through this deep repressed gothic-esque angst. I figured I'd post an excerpt from one of the entries, just to sort of reflect on the growth of thought processes through the ages.
Staring into the darkened abyss
Soul pried away from flesh
bodies lie naked,exposed, heaped
The flames licking swirling
Baring with translucent eyes
Daggers piercing tearing apart
Pungent and rank the foulest of smells
Perfuming the atmosphere
smothered, suffocated, stifled
Black to white, white to black
Oozing thick and bittersweet
petrified viscosity
Dead.
Post a Comment