The Dark Forest: Literature, Philosophy, and Digital Arts
Sometimes I wish I could do it,
fumigate all those old spirits
in my mind, take some sage
and light it up, walk through
every memory as if one day
they might just fly away
and leave me in peace;
disperse them in the wild lands
never to be heard from again;
but that’s not the way of it, is it?
We’re all in this dark wood
like criminals and hoods,
or gothic maidens all dressed up
in black and purple make-up,
our eyelashes plucked out,
our scalps are bloody raw
from where we scraped them off;
now I know it isn’t pretty to say it,
but who is fooling who here
in this chronic picnic of a hell?
Those blasted memories appear
at night like an army on the march,
and the coffers are empty
and the kitchen is all bare
of milk and honey; yet, I’m
still here with my throng,
my ghostly crew…
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I love it! Wonderful! @v@ ❤
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