We’ve come back from the dead.

Life for want of a box; seems somewhat ironic that I am surrounded by boxes at work and no I don’t work at a funeral parlor; I work at Kohl’s. Grisly Load – A Process… most days I empty boxes of crap and all I want to do is curl up in one and die.

Working myself to the bone… more like working while I’m shaking in my bones; I don’t just hate going to work but I’m afraid to. Working Stiff… I couldn’t be one of those zombies even if I wanted to be but that doesn’t stop me from dying inside.

I could smell the dead and still I smelled worse, my bed becoming my coffin; how many times I wished to die in my sleep. Memorial Scent… when I finally do die there will be nothing left of me but a mess; I will only be remembered as crap.

Happy Halloween.

The poem is based on the feelings of a child who finds love and grows with it only to find it all a dream, transcient and fake. Reality is unveiled and the child who is now grown up realises the futility and imprecision of love.

The higher you think you are, the more you think you must do.. .

Part of my fantasy novel.

Two became one in the mute of midnight.

I listened to her songs and her laughter, I endured her silent treatment, and I even heard her fear and her lies. The Sound of Carrion… sweet sounds of decay because after you have heard such a siren’s song really what else is there worth listening to?