Molding forms -
Beauty arises from the deformed.
Distorted visions-
Playing with ether is my mission
Fornicating with possibilities,
Having full faith abolishes guarantees.
Frenzied states. Ecstatic and manic.
Lies very close to feeling anxious and panic.
Multitudes of sin, awaken the dead.
Long live the king but be off with his head.
Come closer my friend, stay with me forever
Intoxicated by his company, I retreat. Cutting the tether.
Blended worlds will cause some confusion.
Clarity dismantles the repeating illusion
Create in your one world -that is you with the other.
Discern between what is real and what is under cover.
Sharing helps to get rid of fears.
Distressed calls -yet nobody hears.
Farewell my demons, I trust in another.
My hand is taken and I am guided by my brother.
About the Creator
At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly7 days ago in Horror
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