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The wind plays it derisive ballad as my thoughts fly away to distant lands at the stroke of midnight. Old melodies revisit me but the halls of menacing secrets have been locked away safely lest a trespasser should invade them. What I’ve been seeking has no name, has no shape but is built by the occult mind maze encapsulated by the smoke of skeletal burdens. There are dreams but how transient they are, like visitors from Nordic countries, too eager to flee, wrapped in vapors of invisibility. Sleep chokes me for hours at end and reading old books feels like partaking in a train wreck. There’s harm in even the most innocent of gestures-paranoia, with its sinister shaped clouds raining over me while everyone else seems to be bathing greedily under the skin resurrecting sunlight. I’m assured of one thing though: control is captivating. It’s a new power I’ve stumbled upon. If used well, I could own desires, twist things my way. How hungry it makes my soul. I’m nothing but a hyena smelling blood. How interesting things become through perceptions unheard of. Corrupt me, heavenly sin. I await my downfall, ever so diligently.