Francesca The Loud.

So it goes…

[elliephantom]

Love had sparked a cosmic crack into chaos that was otherwise recognized as “hunt.”

In the infinite wiring of my nerve endings and logical conclusions to be hunted had not yet occurred to me.

[elliephantom]

For a moment of clarity it seemed our flesh was only a screen to project hell onto.

[elliephantom]

I woke up in a pool of endless dark stretching my fingertips out to try to find a ledge, diving down to find a bottom, but all I heard were echos.

Up, or down, breath, no breath, gravity weighted on me by an ability to tell the difference in temperature.

I feared the days for the water would warm almost to a perfect 97.8 degrees and I would barely have the energy to know if I was swimming or sinking, breathing or paralyzed in suspended salted waters or falling in space.

“How did I get here?”

[elliephantom]

The gilded aged by alchemists and I.

The wounds never cauterized, trembling infection.

Lobotomy.

“And when Maranda sang everyone turned away.”

[elliephantom]

[elliephantom]

Do you ever have moments of time pocketed away in a form of normality. A kind of memory of a day you can still remember enough to try on again? Open the windows and put on the same playlist, try to be present in a moment that is slightly more familiar than the current. The undercurrents of change and the treetops still green, my head is in snow and my feet forgot in spring.

Maybe it’s more pretend than reality in and of it’s self, and in those ways theres still echos I shouted years ago. Haunting that they have reverberated into simple caws and ancient hallow chested cries. It’s becoming almost too cliche, and yet the heart does pound in the walls and I might have momentarily believed there stood Poe.

[elliephantom]

Being your other half.

I guess you never get lonely, because I’m lonely all the time.

& I guess you must be loved, because I’ve only known cold chained chambers.

I guess you must be well respected, because I face slander as an addressable.

I guess you must be well fed, well dressed, and well kept.

And I’m sure you must be respected and seen when you walk into rooms.

I sit in the wake of rot left from your famed entrances.

I am the other half of your luxery that wilts with cheapened after thought.

I am the empty box under your bed of half wished memories and vague sense of familiarity.

It’s the little things I suppose that’s left when I am simply the shadow of what you refuse to see.

I never hold my hands, just to keep you from finding them.

I cry inside in hopes it pokes you back.

My loneliness can kill me and if so I hope it takes at least a moment of your breath away. Maybe it passes maybe it doesn’t….a moments worth of sharpened needles juxtaposed your otherwise tailored lofty soft atmosphere could be lethal enough to kill a moment.

Like rivers running shallow, I don’t pray anymore just so you can’t find my hands.

[elliephantom]

I wish to be buried within the stars, and left for dead at the bottom of the sea.

It was almost as though children had found a peculiar lump of fur and bones in the midst of an imaginary battle. Running threw leaves, and stays.

The same microbe taste to light the stillness in a rigor mortis dream-state. What a poor and foul display of hubris. Stepping over crushed eggshells and a single tear the size of a pea.

A small pea-head under the bed perhaps. I hoped this echo threw the corridors was simply a misguided threat, perchance a caw of a last call. Though, starkly colder having given up the Elinor. Maybe it was over-use that stained the brim with a forever hue of red. Maybe it was the mud covered secret they left in the woods. Slouched and chilled, this hallow is not mine. I do however have a moments time in the shadow before my guests join me in the REMs I own.

An intruder most certainly has been here. though the fingerprints look more of a limped cock. There’s a particular stench of misery that fallows a man who wishes to cage his balls so flippantly and publicly. It becomes not much more than the panty-soaked fandom of a punishment pig. That’s the most you can expect to be mentioned, there’s still however the matter of the coal-a nuts and the freight train, gimp. I do intend to mother this leprosy.

“Do you know of Russian Rulette?” A child’s voice asked from within the wall.

Her older smacks their lips after devouring her husbands masculinity as nightly super. A steamy, greasy, mess all over the dinner table. He somehow managed to stand stale tie-d noosed, and a tall glass of red.

“I’m going out.” He whimpered loudly at her in defeat and tuned to a memory of backbone. Convincing, perhaps momentarily. I never knew if he noticed me most don’t, it’s easy to forget a chill when your entire life is frigid.

To simply look threw the void is no longer, the void is now the marbles swirling into a sticky union. Maybe Peter Pan was right.

“Ellie do you think we’ll make it home?”

“I really don’t know right now, let me tuck you back in, until I have a better plan. You like the pages of wonderland don’t you Page?” “Yes Ellie.” “I want to be in your book Ellie.” “You are Page, I promise.”

“Would it be too ghastly or droll to stay and watch?”

About as haunting as it would be to stay and eat...

As the thoughts passed absently into the abyss, to say action was never his strong suite and tie would be under addressed. I believe it’s the fear of nothingness the walls whispered, they would know best, 1900 years of silent observation. What a brand of hell, to be the dwelling of a crypt. None the less his absence makes way for the monsters. Smelling pungently of regrets and piss stained fear left from her prior meals. The Older stood; dabbed her fingers one last time in the cake her daughter was eating, and exited bloated. The Older consumes her family’s aspirations half-grown. The way she likes them, the after taste of hope is sweet. The buttered roots leave poisoned tongs for the world to torment as she thumbs threw the pages of her next meal, it’s saddened still…the cake that is.