The Attrition of Loneliness

the attrition of loneliness
boards up sensory output
feeling fingers grasp at cold iron
searching eyes witness singular tragedy
tired mouths form words isolated to ghosts

dreams offer the only beauty
in a gray continuation
so many stars will fall
as the moon gleams with blood's luster
night reigns in darkened principality

listening for listeners
what pictures language paints
a dirty wound, a cut for fear
loveless longing sells cheapened thrill
a dead and barren field



-c.thomas.c-


(24:35|18.1.014)

The Colorless Monster

I have recurring dreams of the Key.
Once in my possession,
it unlocked the prison door of my Geist.
The colorless monster
of tangible webs of thought;
it pulled from all outlets of memory,
forming words
into stone-sharpened flint blades,
and obsidian arrowheads.