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colours of late autumn
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Mary Shelley ― Mathilda
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Eddy Road
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my pronouns are [REDACTED]/[DATA EXPUNGED]
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Winter, Denver, Colorado, RA Clayton
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a king sits upon his throne
his castle collapsing, unseeing
when once the stars lit his path
they now shudder and fall
yet he rampages on
even we have turned our eyes away
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I missed my exit, I’ll be a little late
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the house is haunted. but there's no ghost in the halls or lurking in the rooms. no. the house is the ghost and the house is haunting itself.
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Halloween series: A Haunting by Ellis Nightingale
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The wavering between dreams // Part 1
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Connie Post, from “How to Sort the Living from the Dead”
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autumn peeking through
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you open your eyes. where are you? nothing looks familiar. you're holding a tattered journal. the pages are damp and black with mold. you can just barely make out one sentence on the faded, crumbling pages.
(watch out for the sink.)
you open your eyes. where are you? nothing looks familiar. the skyline is warped neon, the buildings caving in on themselves. the journal is still tattered, but it's not moldy now. you can make out one sentence on the faded, ripped pages.
(watch out for the sink.)
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september drive // 2020 // washington.
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always check to make sure the leaves behind you aren’t crunching.
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