Certain words bring forth certain ideologies. Poisonous mixtures of cantankerous misanthropes. The needle and the thread. Sew back together the lost lives of the frolicking dead. A lost part of life. Retrieving a lost substance. An abusive relationship. Maintained through obsession. Depression is the recollection of masturbation. I am the harbinger of necrotic tendencies. The death within every breath you breathe. It is life I incinerate as the soul becomes disbursed. This is when she looks at me in her peculiar way. Behind her eyes. She thinks of me between her thighs. There are no lies. Within her cries. Only the blissful decadence of what lies within. Her hands and thoughts. Violently caressing me from within. The inner longings of her passion. Silently screaming to be heard. Wings of a feather. Words once remembered. Flying high within the night sky. Along with the raven’s word. Lingering on her warm breath to be heard. Amongst the cries hidden within the forest’s rotting trees. This is where we have hidden ourselves away from the world. Amongst the rot, the darkness, and the growth within the dying. This is our home. Within the rot and the darkness. This is where you and I belong.
G.G. Kalfas 