An exploration of cosmic horror.

An experimental poem - My temporary house (my forever home)

By someone who has hated this phrase.

It is difficult courting chaos. It often arrives unannounced – like an old friend and a pocket full of broken stars. It invites me in with bright smi...

My love for writings fights an equally hard battle with my hatered that resonates from the darkest and murky places of the darkly dreaming heart. When passions die where do they do? Does imagination bury them under the weight of capitalism or they go to the heaven of lost souls?