Roses

Even roses could not survive in this frozen tundra of a world,

where darkness perpetually sweeps the land,

digging up chunks of wet dirt

and eradicating long forgotten daisies

with one simple flick of the hand.

This Is What Happens When Depressed People Write

What happens

when we allow ourselves

to feel? Do we suddenly

recognize

the pain,

the sadness,

the agony

buried deep inside

our bustling minds? Or, is

the recognition

gradual?

Do we slowly

develop into

anxious beings

wanting to rid

ourselves of either

our trouble

or life, itself?

 

Hyperallergic

Sensitive to Art & its Discontents

Aubrey's Arch

A Complete Circle, An Oracle’s Virtue

Thinking Moon

"I have loved the stars too fondly, to be fearful of the night."

The Weird Writings of Gareth Barsby

Welcome to my world of weirdness.

%d bloggers like this: