Flammable Penguins

Claire Blackshaw's Forest of Fun

I watch sweet ether run off my lips

I watch sweet ether run off my lips

I know I said I would avoid posts like this, deal with it this is for my mind not yours.

I watch the sweet ether roll off my lips and caress the very things of reality. Is this my soul, the essence that I cannot fathom or is it merely the cool breath of lungs cold from torment expressing some desire to be acknowledge beyond the pain in my chest and the untimley screams at night.

I watch the ether twist and form ghosts of the horrors which prey across my mind scape they hunt the things of joy and compassion. Once this world was thrown in a false dawn a twilight of thought and pleasure. The false dawn lasts only so long before plants wither and blacken the ground.

The red sunrise signifies blood. An old wives tale people say but true to its core. The fields were washed clean of ash as the blood seeped into the ground and once more the sun's approached harkend.

This is no fairytale land the sun's rise does not solve everything the specters of days and years of lean crops still stalk these fields. The sun is slow and pain is electric quick. Think on the id. I lay down the string and proceed through the ground given me. The shading of growns longer as the scape is darkened and twisted by the growing brush of id.

I think on the sun and think of the plant strangled land, king of dust or a peasent women in a rich land. My mind wonders lost.