to love is to worry; i worry when my mother stares blankly because i know what it's like to be so stuck in one's head, that the wall across from your face can become a canvas laden with notions.
i worry when my father's hands ache, i fear his affliction seeps deep into his blood and bones, marinating his laudable soul.
i worry even when friends are fine, because i know how life can be and i know how easy it is to mask the hurt with small smiles and distance.
i worry when my lover drives at night, i fight off sheep while he passes through traffic lights; i know it's love when he tells me he's made it back home by how swiftly i welcome sleep.
About the Creator
melancholy galaxies
• tory edana talbott •
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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 Rolly3 days ago in Horror
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