The madness began to whisper in this cloistered space, thick with the stench of tormented souls.
The taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue, living the day shunning naked light.
I sat in a high-backed chair carved with grotesque figures that swung like a pendulum do. With an impotent requiem for the mind that had since departed.
With a stain of herringbone I lift this stone from the dead and relentless echoes sucking the marrow of my blood, devouring my gluttony for the high-back chair.
I was drawn into the surreal, haunting imagery – the stunning contrast between the “sweet as rain” “taste of life and the suffocating pressure of the high-backed chair” and found myself suspended between horror and wonder. Beautifully dark. I love this.
I thank you. My pen has an illicit affair with the dark side of my dreams.