turkishworrell

three days have passed and not an utterance ive heard the Dogs have stayed their tongues the silence consuming all thought no whimper nor snarl no yipping or bark they sit and wait for reasons i am not sure The Dogs of Twisted Tongue not resting or wearied but calm and quiet beaded eyes scour the horizon the setting sun stands them to guard anxiously pacing and pawing treading circles on my land unceasing until the sun breaks to dawn amidst a revere is when i understood it all the Dogs have nothing to howl at anymore it has taken three seasons to realize why the nights' have been so black an omission of thought The Pack i

The Dogs of Twisted Tongue are on the warpath again and this time they've come with malaise to my home the pack of mangy cur sniffing and snarling scruff and tail standing tall matted fur and bloodshot eyes they are looking for a feast for fear of disappointment i provided for each of them their weight in mutton snapping jaws lapping tongues devouring the meal and they return each night for twelve days on to satiate their hungry bellies on the break of the thirteenth day the muscidae arrive destruction is imminent decay is born in the mouths of these juments i shall bide my time in silence The Dogs of Twisted Tongue leashed

"another year wasted" she said… another year indeed but really, no really what's just one more year? its only money and time and energy and emotions and relationships and failures and promises and lies and sweat and worry and commitments and faith and dreams and fading memories and forgotten faces and ringing ears and sotted eyes and gasoline and smiles and compassion and fatigue and early mornings and broken hearts and bruises and headaches and shattered glass and black coffee and highway mile markers and green grass and cracked pavement and fountain pops and three packs a day and hours of worthless film and pages of knowledge and

the gates have been opened little demons dart and dash around the periphery Rion stands on wanton guard and i proceed with caution to our mother's hanging gardens fourteen souls across the rampart they daren't scale our walls Typhon's son lays in wait to the east calling out to the gibbous moon Halcyon cries the "all clear" apple blossoms in full bloom 10.16.2k7

i realize now it takes a sharp eye to distinguish an angel from a bird at such great distance and the trouble with winged creatures: they never are truly grounded neither tethered or bound (she will not have it any other way) i hear her wings were clipped once even then she managed flight diligent toil alabaster feathers kissed the earth no more she’s stretching her wings once again (she has already planned the migration) through no logic can i make sense of this there is no reason i can find no excuse no nothing just a whim so let’s go to war, baby we can have it your way let’s pull out all the stops break

I saw my reflection in a piece of broken glass today And I think I truly saw myself My eyes have become dark and vague I chuckled a bit and continued to smoke Watching myself I realized I am no Draco I am no Taurus either Smoke curls around my face But I’ve not the strength to stamp or soar Its been one long winter Perhaps I’ve just been cold the whole time Two years fought in the Valkyrie’s War Has taken its toll on us all My cracked hand approaches my cheek Scratching the scruff on my face I clear my throat and inhale the cold air It smells stale in here The coldest winter I can recall in a long while I go t

transparent lucid skin taught over frail broken bone a factitious grin reveals execrable fangs abhorrence drips from each apex a tattered cloth of woven animus clings to wilting shoulders ah, yes the Somatopathic 07.24.2k7

my eyes awoke so early today i wish the rest of me had my mind sits in this coma and i can hardly catch my breath the days are so much longer when my retinas beat the crepuscular conscience droning through the early hours i barely feel my feet touch the ground my head hurts before the sun breaches the horizon and as the minutes drag by i can see myself blink struggling to open my eyes each time midday approaches i thank God for the heat the beading sweat on my brow conceals the tears clinging to my lashes the maladroit thoughts the agonal respirations the kecking and choking vision blurs my eyes close time passes and pass

My eyes snapped open and suddenly found myself without my balance. Clawing at the outstretched arms of cigarette smoke, I couldn't catch their fingers and realized I was going to fall. I watched the ceiling roll down in front of me but the ground never greeted me. Everything is so slow now… I can hear my heart beat. The air is glittering. I can see—Ohh there's the fucking floor. And now there's my head, bouncing back off of it. Why the hell is my back wet? Jesus H., am I bleeding? That's fucking blood I taste. What the hell is going on here?!   Quietly resting on my back, I mulled over what exactly could be happening to me.  A few things hi