Breath of frost Frozen lost Snow eats      away at shallow sheets.  Swinging from the seams of bellowing blankets hardened from heat's assassin.  

Once Wolves Knock

Doctors of plague surround This darkened room lie shunned One wish for the worthy Knees aching; hands gripped tight Thighs strenuous with disease Crimson falling from mouths Telling futures Eyes of the ceiling eating chests 

Bloodshot and bloody, they all are...

Apparitions knocking at every door Falling heads on hard pillows Storms awaken Incisions through chests The harvest has come Eat, beasts, eat Feel it? Heartbea--

Barnacle

When standing in quicksand one can only think of whether the grandfather still ticks, tocks when no one is around to hear.

Sinking deeper into consciousness one can only believe vivid dreams are more than just delusions procreating themselves verily.

Blankets of the grey sails and the treasure stowed away are but mere manifestations of a glossy and effervescent bay.

Cries in the depths are unheard with the exception of Elizabeth who lies bottomless and eternal waiting for someone to extinguish her forever.

Last Billows of Storms Searching for Final Breaths of Flames.

The portending, prowling wolves keep wake through dawn with the howling sounds of cryoseisms shaking the land as if Atlas’ spine finally shattered from holding so much.

Preaching rosewoods hum the aftermath of fault lines whilst careening cardinals fall into Earth like canaries burning with passion for a final sight of diminishing sunlight.

These chasms of portals leading to the depths of caverns can only hold so many clocks deeming to be significant as the bark of the trees moan with the growls of grizzlies.

This ice — it seems to never thaw, only expand everly; garden sundials sit to rust while this polar landscape gives way to celestial skyscrapers of flurried phonetics still waiting to be listened to, although bland and beaten.

Sounds of The Elizabeth, Sinking.

“Holding my own in crows’ nests is all I have left; I know this ship is sinking.”

Talks of creaking planks; the wood is falling beneath our fee -- We still have a breath and a reason to break chains.

There is a sacrifice to be taught; a lone, lonely sacrifice.

Swim to the surface, sweet Marinda.

Per flames and ocean, this vessel has no room.

Find a way to give life for I will do the same today and you will find that ...

only one of us can make it out alive.

So many reminisce on the toxic times and I fall in love with it. It makes me feel better that other people go through the same hardships - just in different fashions.

Blood in the Book

La la la...

These beasts kept unkempt and on their pedestals protrude.

Each lycanthrope lifts these statuettes to bring kings closer to the moon.

Blackened with silhouettes and drawn closer to the light, the darkness in shadows give but shallow shades of shimmering darkness:

Just enough to see yet not enough to illuminate the celestae above. They would drop any other had it been in best interest of suffrage.

So the feast of leaves leave but crisp crunches in their maws.

Food scarce; felt under their paws.

Gathering on the Peak of Existence

Bewildered are the planned actions (too soon and flawed) that

part this winter and bathe in rockéd snow. Part these waters and waste away in the worry of the night.

Several Stays

These tiles, emcompassed by sand hold secrets far, far beneath.

These ghosts, held by moons, dance with candles lit long ago.

These stones illuminate imagination; these stars shine upon soft crystals.

These chasms are closed with salts sealing the cold.

Dredging the Coast

There is rain.

I feel the ghost behind it.

I’ve drank wine before, but this wine is too red. These hands are anxious and ready for another glass. Please take my necklace; please find me on the coast.

I cast these messages for a reason.

Most become sea glass, yet only purples have reason to float.

Greeting the Gods of Kettle

As effervescent as it may seem, these shores are but a chrysalis in the story of one man eaten alive by the salt; the seas; the saline. Stone walls imprison every thought leaving every movement susceptible to the motions of geography and the currents of cracked faults.

One day hope will flash its beacon over a surfed sunset Southeast rough while a certain pupa meditates over the transformation of Mohegan Bluffs.

Jack-of-the-Dust

Smoke fills our fo’c’sle and uplifts a crawling depth.

Southern sirens sing beauty superficial through luminescent skywalks (echoing) to raise the hands of the deceased.

Had the stars slept through Autumn we could have held this night as our own.

These apparitions walk in my place.

[Find me treading]

I am still floating; I am still breathing; I am still.

Hello all. I’ve been out of town visiting family and haven’t had great internet. I’ve made it back now and decided to make a small montage of what Zach and I were up to. Hope you enjoy.

Hello all. I just wanted to say thank you for such a warm welcome back. I know I’m notorious for popping in every once in a while and saying I’m back then leave again, but I’m going to try to do better this time around. Most of you are seriously awesome. Feel free to drop a line sometime. I’d love to chat with the lot of you!

Sorry I haven’t been around so much as of late. I’ve wanted to but have been stuck in a rough patch for awhile. When you leave for such a great amount of time and then attempt to come back it feels a bit strange. Hell, I wouldn’t (and still don’t really like to) go out in public for the longest time since the reconstructive surgeries, but I’m finding it to be easier as time goes on. I was really shaken by the whole incident and to this day find myself jumpy when other people make quick movements around me. My anxiety is definitely higher but just going out, or even taking a shower, makes me feel better about being in public. I found a new love for driving which is something I used to despise. I’ll take my car out for hours now listening to music and letting the windows down when I can. That is truly magnificent because I don’t enjoy going out much anymore at all. Anyway, here’s picture proof of how well I’ve healed. The nose surgeries were the toughest but I’m pretty sure it is aligned now. Much love to you all. I would love to hear from you. Be easy. <3 Willie

This Day is Dressed in White

I have swallowed salt crystals and waited for myself to bloom. I have seen others inhale water just to keep their sentience at stasis. Never had I thought that taking in an environment could make me feel so transparent.

This is a special day. This nighttime holds a pixeled twilight ready to become something worthwhile. When I wake and look at the fragmented sky, I will see peace and ultimate closure. The search for iron definition is over.

You will hear echoes from the wings of every gull and the sender will need no translator.

This patience is just a personal winter — whether I see that nostalgic blue dreamscape again will be determined by cerulean tides.