if we fall, we fall from the top of the mountain
with snow in our mouths and with eyes blinded by the white
dreams floating around us like night butterflies
feeding on the glory, drinking from the cold hands of splendour

if we fall, we fall from the golden thrones
sinful artists, children of the imploding star
shaping the fate with eager fingers
tangled in the rays of the black sun

born to crumble under the weight of our own curse
perfect failures, emperors of the shattered ruins
which we created on a beautiful whim

Someone said Gary Numan? My musical taste takes a twist and spins like crazy child toy.

I will dig deeper, my love
bury my fingers in your stretched nerves
kiss your bones with black flame
play symphonies on your beating veins

I will reach deeper, my beloved
until you lay on the bed of verdant moss
inhaling my essence in, devouring its bitter taste
spread under my wings, complete and scattered

gathering pieces of my darkened soul

The sickness’ tail lashes like a wing of a furious crow. But surprisingly, it allowed me to capture a morsel of time to rest. Time, which I would probably spend at work and then at sleeping after work.

Gods bless reconvalescence.

If only adult life didn’t mean more duties than relax.

Ad. I am in Depeche Mode phase. After 20 years – again. The childhood comes back with full force to embrace me with synths.

The pros of job of book portal reviewer – free books.
the cons of job of book portal reviewer – … free books.

I have so many already that I can’t touch the ones I bought myself.

My night fills slowly with day.
My bones grow sprouts and bud with green vines.
My blood becomes blue as a clear sky.

I change.
It comes.

[ happiness is not given, but sometimes we are gifted with it, when we really need it ]

My dreams are restless, as always at the beginning of spring. My whole being is restless, ravenous. I can’t find a safe space for myself, I wander between clouds and meadows, between underworld and sacred groves.

I dream about blood and end and about the beginning. It leaves me all over the place. I wished the sun reach its point at the top of the skies and leave me be.

You should come faster, vesna, as I can’t wait to spread my black wings and fly over the blooming gardens and green woods.

I want to breathe again.

So with dreams, come fruits and moss. And darkest of nights filled with ashen flame.

Warning: sensual content…

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be glad the ents march at your orthanc
spilling the forest rage over your white robes

be glad the ravens predict miss fortune
turning her cracked back on you

be glad the wind carries dust into your eyes
and grass worms into your flesh

fairy rage untamed like ocean waves
casting enchantment on the spot that hurts most

be glad
be glad, sweet mortal
be glad for little blessings
that may disappear by the wave of my hand

Your lavender reminds me of witches’ brew, a hen leg house, with herbs hanging from the ceiling, to engulf the visitors with their forest spell – first to welcome me at deep night and offer me an archer’s tea.

Your gold shines like will-o-wisps; swallowing darkness with fangs bathed in glittering ichor.

Your green is a color of deep woods, darkened by fey magic, lighted by beams of sun among upper branches – a familiar feeling of being right where I belong.

Your soil-rich hazel and beige is like a cinnamon bitterness and touch of tree bark – a home safety for a wolf beast.

My soul is painted green and black, a darkness that swallows light, but allows yours in.

We are witches’ familiars, spellbound creatures, so difficult to track, when they disappear in silent shadows of the overgrowth.

Thank you for being an archer to my hunter, Ryan.