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26.03.26
one day i shall give to the world
smells that linger
colors that never fade
vivid imagery
nice little memories
perhaps a polaroid frame
to be hung on a dormitory wall
passerbys will come to a stop
ignoring the smell of decay
they will smell the flowers
my flowers
growing
out of my rotting bones
20.03.26
those of us who reside in the unholy city,
who sprouted out of the blackness of an old root cellar,
or sprayed forth like dark ashes from an unclean chimney,
those of us who are permanent citizens of the unholy city,
are neither angels nor demons
although we are sometimes called upon to play such parts,
for the purpose of some game that has been going on since the world began,
acting out our roles in a drawn out, intricate stage show that we will never understand,
nor ever care to understand.
nevertheless, we are really not so different from the tourists who sometimes visit our little town,
and sometimes stay with us forever.
who are also born of the same blackness as we were, as everything was.
still there is one respect, in which we, the inhabitants of the unholy city,
diverge from all others in this world,
who are so caught up in the game that is going on,
who identify so completely with the parts they have been given to play in the stage-show universe,
that they actually believe themselves to be somebody or something.
we on the other hand, suffer from no such delusion
we are nobodies. we are nothings.
and even to speak in such terms maybe claiming too much for ourselves.
which is to say that we are just like everybody else.
while they without ever knowing or suspecting the true facts.
are just like us.
Thomas Ligotti
10.03.26
in between the pines
i see a girl with a halo
her smile warm
her halo radiant
she invites me to walk with her
through the pines
the rocks
the rivers
into the sand
we sail across the ocean
our feet above the water
close enough to feel the world's beauty
far enough
it cannot reach us
tomorrow we will have breakfast
doughnuts from a halo mold
coffee brewed in an antique kettle
stories of yore
of lives meaningless
09.03.26
snow burrows into the room
a window forgotten open
cigarettes smolder, left unattended
clothes strewn about
rodents creep up the walls
laughter fading into dust
coffee cup forgotten
the residue starting to mold
maggots crawling out of him
nothing to indicate intent
zero calls
zero messages
the cold hid the smell
08.03.26
when you see love
enter your soul
what would you do?
would you be afraid
of the unknown?
or would you embrace it
knowing it would cut into you
like razor sharp vines
not knowing whether the vines
would rot
or blossom
07.03.26
a butterfly is seen
spreading its wings
rays from the evening sun
gently hugs it
the colors in its wings flicker like glitter
lighting up the dread of the world begotten
it takes its last breath
between two hard cover books
by the bastard son of the family
all those colors shared with the world, for nothing