Sta.sh
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The HuntYou walk out to the storm, you walk out in the rain
your eyes red and dimmed, your skin sickly pale
you dont know what pulls you but you know it's too strong
more than any bond you've ever forged before...
The wind whips your skin though you feel no pain
you hear voices call, calling your name:
if you turn back now, everything will be the same
if you turn back now, eveything will be ok
You are tempted to stop, turn your back at the rain
go back in the warmth and the peaceful decay
then you hear the hound's call and the galloping horse
and you know you could never resist to that force
You collapse to the ground as the voice hits y
Writing is...writing is...
a way to rehab where you never get convicted and the inmates don't think you're crazy. a way to speak without opening your mouth or getting slapped for it's content. a secret word, sentence, paragraph that give us shivers deep in our bones and joy to the tips of split-ends. an endless thought that carries on through forever.
writing is...
the only exception to a snow-day, when i'm stuck inside undecided about which disney movie to stick in the vcr, wanting to let it play through without hearing one line of dialogue. i sit on my window seat with my valentines teddy-bear wedged between my arms whimsically singing wishful lyric
Cycle of LossLost in pain, again
It's just reframed
Another time and place,
Beautiful face
Her dishonour has disgraced
Weeping heart in hands
This man,
No longer stands
Broken on the floor, he claws
Through yet another door
thanks so much for being part of this delicate selection
That`s much appreciated