Wet Stone

These are the truth tools; these which I use to torture myself. The sharpening stone must be wet and the tools sharp to hit home. I think I'm insane, or at the least, not so far from that ledgefall into hell or beyond. Thanks be Gods. No emotion, but that needling hot nothingness and a … Continue reading Wet Stone

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I warned you that I’d write a poem…

The sounds of silence. There is no such thing In reality. Why? You are human. Noise comes naturally Y'know that crack'lin? That rapid rushing When hear something And you are alone? That's the cry of your nervous system How about that thud That beats in your ears... Can't you hear it now? Boom (pause) Boom … Continue reading I warned you that I’d write a poem…