Anastazia Zander1 min readFleeting FantasiesUneasy mebeen swimming in a honey seaSleepy goldslows my soulin a river we call:“growing old”Sticky, sickly honey beehumming songs of miseryI think and wantbut cannot moveLife tastes so sweet—at least I thought.
Uneasy mebeen swimming in a honey seaSleepy goldslows my soulin a river we call:“growing old”Sticky, sickly honey beehumming songs of miseryI think and wantbut cannot moveLife tastes so sweet—at least I thought.
Girl Buried AliveGirl buried alive beneath a mountain of coats. Put to rest upon hand-embroidered fabric. It rubs her skin raw. The chandelier clinks its...
The Comfort of my Bedroom and my Sleep Paralysis DemonThe paint-chipped windowpane in which car brake lights and street lamps are shown. Each car stopping for the stop light, and then...
As Free As a Bell Collard CatAs Free As a Bell Collared Cat They lie lazily in the bright sun shine, Never fearing for the inevitable. Existential dread is not...
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