The air is saturated by the stench of a perspiring structure, which decomposes into the swollen soils beneath. And there you cower… in a contorted stance, with your bitten limbs sunk against those horrid walls and cemented with your deceit!
By M.Rose, 27.02
My words are mislaid and dispersed within your tender, fleshy vessel; like an astrayed entity scouring a nebulous, dense and emulsified forest. I urge you to seek and decrypt these incoherent, defaced words that are buckled and suspended on adhesive webs of strained, charred branches.
— M. Rose
Our bodies confine us in blood and bone. Our means of communication is scratching and tapping on the cement wall dividing our prison cells. You’ll never see the innards of my dark tomb… nor I you.
— M. Rose
Our beliefs, our moral codes, they allow us to feel as though our identities are authentic, dignified, even Godly. But time and space is a paradox, reality is based on perception; carved out of external stimuli that endorses or shuns our ‘authentic selves’. Our ideas reign superior and we feel oppressed and ridiculed until they become the limelight with our token name on it! Would we gain the same satisfaction if someone else took credit for our creation? Our notions? No! Because the authenticity has been stained as it is not our lips that spawned the propaganda that we, the collective, the civilised, dip our snouts into.
29.11/ M. Rose
If you could, would you choose to forget and set aflame to the inflictions that stench of regret?
– 16.09 M. Rose
You enter the foyer of my mind and your presence alarms me. The door is agape and your ease of access unsettles me.
– 06.11 M. Rose
Sat in the place we first met, I write this dishevelled, rain soaked note. Pain and anger, I can’t stand it. My jittering hand clasps a glass of ice, whiskey, two slices limes and I shudder under my damp clothing. I can’t stand this. My jaw is aching, my limbs are clenched, the bartender is watching me now. Fuck. I can’t stop my limbs shaking. And now everyone is looking whilst I stare into the past.
– 15.09 M. Rose