#cosmic-dread

[collapseofindustrialcivilization]

In Folds of Time

The clock’s cold heartbeat stills mid-chime, And chills the air in spectral rhyme; I feel my soul, drawn thread by thread, Toward nameless thresholds of the dead. A tremor stirs beneath the floor, A knocking jaw without a door; Its rhythm swells, deranged, malign— The pulse of something not confined. I watch the walls begin to bend, Their veins of soot and sorrow blend; The blackened corners…

View On WordPress