nagash-thegod

The Room I Sit In Hitting me like a smack between the eyes, a thick, musty atmosphere, heavy with scents of age, Italian cooking and Dior Poison. Binding my head, it induces an intense numbness and I struggle to keep my eyes open. From what I can see, an equally heavy golden haze covers the room like a mantle. Vision blurred, I see fire pokers, charred, burnt black. I go to the lit fire - I am too small to see my face in the glass above. Looking around, many things are out of place, since she likes to prepare things beforehand. A large creeping plant's leaves, like arms, stretch out at my fatigue as I compete to stay awake. Outside, winter

Opening the whitewashed doors To a dazzling sun Was all I needed to Bring the warmth                 the energy                      and the light back onto my face. Backing away slowly From the timeless inevitability That came scarily soon. The shadows rush by in whirls Of memories     Of expectations            Of indecisive gestures. Is there a rut to be stuck in - Patterned by repeated kisses, Rekindled passion And an odd feeling of exteriority? Who really knows? Your-self is something evanescent, Ethereal And ever-changeable. Overcome by enjoyment Undermined by definition. Lost in this wasteland Of platonism a