Ok it’s cold, like cold man cold.
I know that seems so obvious a thing to state…yet I say again it is cold.
My mind swims with things to say and then when I sit at the keys the tides all flood at once across the sand which are my thoughts. They lay hither and yon now.
Of late they have been vexed by Mab, the queen
And oft’ hast her chariot tumbled ‘cross o’er my brow
Haunting my slumber with the empty vessel which she sells
Fill it how you wish, she bade
To fill it now is a task which can not be
For the container it is lost
In my hands the cuts run deeply and tendons bare
Gore and sinew bathe the ground ‘neath my feet
Knees torn from the gravel path
and empty space from the queen’s minions feast
Tis stolen from my house
I mourn
I do not mourn
Alas the lies I can not speak
Hark I plea wait for me my Captain
Lion of the Gascony guard I would to be your second.
While our hearts know too well the grace of will,
Our hideous form suited only for the worst of men’s hearts
In other news… things start a new on the morrow
That’s all for now other stuff tomorrow, have a great day and play nice in the neighborhood.
Ciao,
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