Author: Torrey

To our youth, and what ruins lay behind They follow me forever, their cries resounding- radio waves of confusion and anger I am below and above it all. Foot steps pounding through wooded shadows with slime coating my feet — What air I breathe is not actually my own, just borrowed diluted through your lungs-…

This is happening again, and again. Your phases of development follow no linear path. Kanban boards filled with notes of every colour. I cannot breathe in gaslight fumes and spiteful desires without coughing up my own corrupted fears

A wannabe bishop’s plea for uttered grace and spoken-for-time. Why’d you go and break it again? Grind kosher salt into my cuts, so at least I don’t offend those above when you burn me through. Real friends or fiends on my shoulders and mind The view from so high has given me clarity. I left…

Belonging to a snake goddess with heliotrope wings Endless rains and whispered grass notes. Walk towards an end that neither can justify or fathom. Sparks of cyan lit our own embers into halos of thorns and wrenched-loose holiness. What wings we have had are now charred and beaten. The winds not strong enough to scatter…

Name it what you will, it knows itself before all, stuttered secret songs Come and see me in the morning, I’ll be in the sunlight. Dreams of slow songs and empty fields. You bit my neck, I woke up to it stinging still. wide eyes and shallow breaths I felt a small death then

the pit I must have dug for this small bundle of fears and regrets was not deep enough. Today I saw the water as it rushed towards me. – I know how to float. I don’t need to drown again, once more. Things have never been the same.

You’re throwing fire but is it even me you’re trying to burn? speak your words, love. let them ring out. I’ll heed your calls, but you must make them. – Are these echoes or answers crashing around the walls of my head this time

A crooked crown, placed by your own hands. Pale gold and moss. Kingslayer, you who broke the stones of the fountain. Cracked the very tiles you stood upon for your proclamations of self and peace. True names elude your tongue, and you can not force them to kneel to you anymore. The wind will not…