Garden of Blackthorn

Homesick Demon Photographer

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The Grind

9 to 5

The dream, they say

Working, working

Everyday

My hands are numb

There is no fun

Natrue calls to me

Is this what life was meant to be?

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Death is coming

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Writer's Block

I want to write a poem

About the sun, wind and trees

But everytime I put ink to page

The demons won't leave me be

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All paths lead somewhere, even if that somewhere is nowhere.

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Failing, falling.

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Before the fall.

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Know your path

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Another angle

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Sundial

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Corpses

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Be my Valentine?

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Fin

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Stand Alone.

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Lonely

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Puddle, reflection.

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It's all in your head.

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Lucky me.