Depression.The unbelievable tomb of depression. I sink. I swallow the dirty water. I bleed into it.Depression.
The lights in my head, in my heart, in my eyes. They dim, they drone, they blow. They do not ever even flicker. They simply collapse under the unbearable weight of silent darkness,
humid, thick, and unreal.
The dead are not as still inside. The dreaming are not half as weightless.
I will eat my own heart; I will poison myself to death.
A Short-Term Effect.Hell is not only repitition. Hell is also an incredibly precise and cute kind of stagnancy.A Short-Term Effect.
Somehow, in Mind, there are endless membrenial pockets, full of Godly light, circuting the walls and hollows of Mind like soft, fever-blue vein.
There are endless hiding places here.
Lust can drive you here, as can all literal and symbolic applications of hunger. Madness extends the durations of the stays, but reduces the wonderment. Jaded and scenery-sick, you know nothing but the fever and the sickness it implies. What was once a blinding blue energy, humming somewhere between the worlds and echoing hollow and s
Nocturpentine.Knowing naught of fleshly hungers my sex within inhuman wonders the kiss of death has sucked me under and made my dead eyes open.Nocturpentine.
I've walked amongst eternal night I've bled a thousand lovers I've saved their eyes with balls of twine gift-wrapped to God, as chosen.
And never having time for ghost, morality or omen I'm working fast beneath the glass to keep the past unbroken.
And holding souls within my fist soot hinders them from bleeding I drink the brine Nocturpentine commence this centuries feeding.
The Unbelievable DreamThe unbelievable dream of you. The buckling horror of realizing just how far you have followed me. Wheathered stacks of granite, shattered marble, dead grey scripture. I am by myself, though not alone. I have not had such a privilage for centuries. Reduced to a scream, wringing my clotted-mud hands. Salty earth stinging bloodied knees. The mortal ghost I have become. Gougings of your flesh hang, rotting in silver from my neck. To love another with the intensity of mutilation.The Unbelievable Dream
If only I could etch your name into my very heart. But the creature I've become is all fingers and fangs, &n
Thanks for the
Much appreciated.
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Regards
John
John Tisbury Photography
Sensual | Provocative | Erotic
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and my gallery at [link]
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I'm too drunk, too drunk, too drunk to fuck
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