A being of duality, poetic irreverence, and maddening nonsense.
While I fixed my hair and robes, Astaria walked over to an ornate chest at the far end of the room. It seemed to be made of a dark wood that was highly polished and covered in sparkling silver stars.
By Arthur Armstrong3 days ago in Fiction
I think it’s really weird
How you’ve focused all your fear
Into judging people’s souls by how they look.
But if I were to judge YOU
By Arthur Armstrong17 days ago in Poets
Dr Sylvanus led the way as I kept asking questions in hopes of finding the real reason we were here, “How is she just now seeing her room if she was here before me?”
By Arthur Armstrong21 days ago in Fiction
We followed the carved, wooden signs on the wall to the Garden. Elaborate crystal doors opened up to a room with high, crystal ceilings. It was filled with the smell of sweet plants and blossoming trees.
By Arthur Armstrong24 days ago in Fiction
The cafeteria was empty save for a woman, slightly younger than I, sitting at a table in the corner. Her dark hair was thrown into a messy bun that perched precariously on her head while her clothes seemed to hang from her body as if they’d dried there.
By Arthur Armstrongabout a month ago in Fiction
We had descended onto a railed platform inside a massive submarine, at least that is what it appeared to be.
“Follow me,” Astaria said as we walked along a shining metal catwalk surrounded by more ceiling to floor windows.
By Arthur Armstrong2 months ago in Fiction
Silence is golden
But speaking up is vital.
Better know we’ll throw hands
If you come for my title.
I’m a ruthless cutthroat
By Arthur Armstrong2 months ago in Poets
My fire, hot with lust
A woman of a higher
Plane of existence.
Air that fills her lungs
Breathing in each serenade
Of the night’s love song.
I can hear them howling.
The rabid wolves of late.
They sneak into the darkest room
And change another’s fate.
They crawl and creep
By Arthur Armstrong3 months ago in Poets
“In the beginning there was God...”
Woah woah wait! Nah. I’m telling this one.
I am called Lucifer.
Before God made the Earth, God made the angels.
By Arthur Armstrong3 months ago in Fiction
The whistling winds of winter wail
As frosted flakes fall fast and frail.
Coating the Earth with thick, cold glitter
That amasses itself on the descendants of Hitler.
Oh you better watch out
You better not dare
To try to bug out
He’ll find you out there.
Krampus is coming to town.
By Arthur Armstrong4 months ago in Poets