These be the doors to where it ends, Sister Rose and her omnipresent thorns scratch cataclysms into skin Benevolence begat the violence inconsequential, this monolithic cross to bear, to bare sunstarved soul upon canvas it is reticence, a fear that binds oh and the chill, blue as ice of mighty Titan formed from things colder than any winter storm arrogance, the insistence, tugging of lines that pull the mind into spaces below tresses of vines being insular, convocation of isolation little by little, bit by bit, steering ship a bit further from shore and homes and laughter wont to want … Continue reading Standing in the middle of a dimension