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A Stranger In A Strange Land

was it I who had placed those bones that I hung up with string from the temple made


of the ceiling of it, I remember showing my friend, after telling him to make his own fort


away from mine, until I invited him in, I showed him where the bathroom was, around


the corner from where my sister does yoga, was it I that time, she saved me from him


am I the shadow that follows you, moving things, like the records falling off the shelf


it was like I saw them with the eyes in the back of my head but I was in what I called my


room then, I just heard it down the hallway, I would just see him now and again, haunting


shaddai the demon in my head at the foot of the bed standing in the pentagram candles


Red, she saw him then, she was laying in her bed, I became the grimm itself and through


what could be considered a dream, started barking, snarling, tearing at the seams for


a perfect manuscript burnt at every edge a hole burnt through the shoe where my socks


used to sleep, when she would go into trances and speak serpentine things, it sounded


exactly as if she was in a cage somewhere dying for a pen, like a stupid dead body, I still


I question if it is all a game of pretend, who is there to trust when all fleeting objections


are lost in the Colossium, i spelt it far worse the first five times, like I fell asleep one night


on the floor by the fire listening to the classics babe and before i knew it I opened my eyes


I was still on the hardwood floor, it was light as if a second had gone by, before the minute


hand held mine and we cried for a good time, before the temple was a room, before the


room was in a temple, before all of the incense burned, it has to burn, it must hurt to be

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