Migratory stories linger Across memories of a flowered love Not possessed of any human being But a fire like plutonium

I prefer the dirt and the darkness Hidden under, hunched Buried in freshly fallen leaves By the pit I'm swallowed up Elder things of...

Skittering ghosts Expressionist lines Down darker and deeper Find where it lies Sinking solemnity Inking this against my skin Making light of this Fatigue permanently setting in I till the soil of this garden I burn the fire in the pit I light the torches by the river I plant my seeds and wait Vaults that never see the sun Reaching with nowhere to go Sundered but still swallowed up Flavorless and malnutritional How I long to meet the tall grass If I only had the gold set asid

Trying to focus on dreams worthy of pursuing and keep yourself from getting discouraged. It can be hard to find that balance between hope...

How many of us are slaves to our dreams? Even when things seem to be moving forward and firing on all cylinders we can find ourselves...