Veiled Peaks

Open the damn door.

Come on, I'm serious.

Open

the

fucking

door.

It's right there, waiting at the dark edge of the room,

Shrouded in the kind of fog that follows temperamental

Weather systems shaking their shoulders and shedding rain.

Is the ground...

...wet?

No, it's just glossy with

the leaves pouring out

from that strange room.

And are those pieces of

candy scattered around?

Masks and nightmares

mingling in the shadows?

God, how

e a s y

would it be

To grab the handle, yank, and fall forward into the embers

Of a fire that wants to burn brightly enough to birth shadows

In a world completely prepared for total madness and delight.

I

fell

through

the

door.

Into a gap in time where every minute lengthens into an hour and every hour

bleeds sunlight until there is nothing but endless, fathomless darkness that

spreads its wings, until the ceiling is nothing but a series of black feathers

rimmed with blazing hues of orange and yellow and red, blazing silhouettes.

aM

i

rAMBLING?

It's the room.

It's got this way about it where it

[won't take no for an answer]

Sticks its cold fingers to my throat.

[makes me think of drowning]

The room is building up to something.

[sticking cloud hands to defined abs]

[wrapping around the architecture of the spine]

[stealing my bones to pack the wounds in its walls]

[it is crumbling beneath the pressure of the date]

[the wall morphs into something moon-like]

[blue-white and translucent, seductive]

[it's begging to be torn apart]

The

leaves

are

dry.