Friday, February 4, 2011


In Dreams (Such as Mine)
By Eric Kael

If you had roamed those halls in dreams such as mine, you would know the elegant curves of that violent, organic aesthetic. If in your tired lungs, you had felt the air of that place, you would feel the truth of ice, the coldness which seeps into bones unable to contain their latent warmth. If in your dreaming mind, you could feel the creeping frost of death hollowing out the eyes of your memories, you might know the sensation of the soul that keeps me locked in this room, as safe as ever one can be from such things.

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Eric Kael writes poetry while sitting on the toilet.


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