I haven't written anything really in years, ive been focusing on my physical arts. This just came pouring out last week due to a certain event. I know it's nowhere near the standard of some of you people, but I didn't want it to just sit around collecting dust.


Lost, in a thousand-yard stare in some small forgotten town, in the middle of some weary field, somewhere – I can be found.
My current closest comfort, the ants that embrace me as they exchange fleeting graces with the words which escape me.
I feel them take passage through my mouth, my nose, my eyes, to my ears, where I’ll set my mind to the rhythm of their frequent and fragile feet marching down my aching throat.
My skin grows tired and dark, shunned by the sun, no friend of the light – not now. Inside my chest, an audience grows in my amplitheatre of bone, as swelling crowds bare witness to the drawing tides of the emberous glow.
This funeral is long.
This temple is cold, this…construction...