october

Camped in bed, a savior of my fallen grace. I am cornered by worlds of my making where the heartache trickles and the fury rattles. She is intuitive. A conduit. For the ghosts upstairs whose souls cannot rest. 

The candles flicker ferociously. I can feel myself loudly. See myself. The degrees drop to a peaceful hum. For my soul, exists home. A solemn canvas. Partly undesired, as what grows still evolves unsettled. Care is warranted. Consideration. Action. This darting sun curates the light I possess. 

A glowing warmth to my slowed world. One etched in romance, fear, and desire. Today, I have come undone. Unravelled by an angst of curiosity and the murmurs of my heart being tucked beneath the veins. Rampant wakes and devoted aches for it is October, an artist is made.