Just be nice.

It’s that simple.

The Secrets of the Rook

A stone carved in dusk;
it beats in riddles,
each thump a vow
the sky translates.

#vss365

A midnight cough, a whisper in the gloom, my breath, a fading ember in the room.

A spectral hand, it clasps me, tight and cold, a tale of shadows, silently unfold.

Each gasp, a tolling bell, a solemn dread, soon, only echoes where my life once spread.

Thorns bite deep, the sky goes red,
Lamb laughs loud though flesh is dead.
Wooden cross, a twisted tree—
Blood for love, or blasphemy?

Good marrow, sir, I’m riddled so—
A jester’s jig with death in tow.
My cells do waltz in rebel glee,
A courtly plague inside of me.

Elephants suffer from trunk insecurity. If you hate your nose and wonder why, it’s just nature.

I’m the mirror that bites,
a lullaby with fangs,
the sun that screams backwards.
I wear your name like a meat mask—
smiling.
Run.
The walls have learned to whisper.

Winds screamed through the night,
But morning broke calm and bright—
I still stand, unbowed.

Lo, midnight ravens croak o’er crimson’d clay,
Feasting ’pon knaves whom valor did betray.
Beaks deep in kings—foul banquet ’neath the moon,
War’s harvest served on death’s black spoon.

They said they’d end me by tonight—
I brewed some tea and lit a light.
If doom must knock, it best be bold…
I’m busy baking. Death’s on hold.