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Read MoreThe forest of haunted wood. Tall pine of cathedrals with a pulse of memory upon the cold lair. With a scent of resin coagulating like ancient archeology's bones. Ghosts in the forest taking root in the wood of eternal...
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I love the dark side in writing. It can only hurt you, if you let it.
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Atticus Abbey wrote a new post
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![Profile picture of Jacob erin-cilberto]()
WE used to play this in grade school…but it was never quite this serious….might have been a bit too scary.
I like the idea you use of “the mockery of human warmth”—
That is what our leader has….And I wish he would come over and have the others in government link hands in peace and stop him from what he is doing.
Come over, come over.
j. -
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Thank you. Wasn’t about politics.
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Read MoreThe pendulum, the clockwork's sovereign. Each tick ofsleepless nights. Each swing, a spit of polished brass. Each motion, a tango without music. Algorithms of insomnia between two abysses without diagnosis. Just coagulation of the cog's spine.
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Read MoreAn old tired house of masonry and woodsagging a weary spine with dark windowsthe soul is gone, leaving only whispers like shattered ribs of nicotine smoking it's last cigarette waiting for the flue
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I drive by old houses no longer lived in, and my imagine goes wild. I picture the house full of activity in its heyday.
I wonder if maybe there is a soul…and maybe it lingers after the house is abandoned.
This poem haunts me, but in a good way.
j.
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I felt completely immersed in this chilling, atmospheric piece, where the forest is a cathedral of memory and ghosts. The imagery is mesmerizing; I can practically smell the cold resin and hear the whispers.