Literature
Ravens and Writing Desks.
Alice, darling, will you fetch me a pen
And some paper? For here is where our story begins.
This fluorescent blood, these spiderweb veins,
They're what make us twisted,
Brilliant,
Lovely,
Resilient.
Come sit with me, love, at my writing desk
This is where dreams are created,
Destroyed,
Feared and enjoyed.
Do not mind the ravens,
They sing for you, Alice;
Whilst words sing of beauty,
Their whispers like rain,
The ink cries sweet nothings,
Innocence,
Ignorance.
They all sing for you, dearest
Sighing and screaming your name.
And then there is nothing.
their songs fade to silence
As technicolor tears stream down my face
A