White land...
white land, between lands.
lands of frost and snow,
frozen dreams,
memories of long ago.

White land...
limbo of all limbos.
monochrome flickers,
i stand still.
my breath collapses
into the sparse emptiness of
winter.

illusions,
play with ambiguity of shadows
of trees against the
slate greys...
mimicking repetitions.
patterns of the past,
i cannot bear to see.

white land,
your petrified shivers,
have murdered the
essence of time.
the beautiful simplicities
have fallen away
into your amnesiac spells,
and...
and so have i.
as the grey skies harden
into a pitless black,
and the dead winter trees
loom over my path like gargoyles,
waiting to spring back to life
their appetites, insatiable.
feeding, gnashing,
binging on fear.

night. night in the white land.
eerie shrills cut into my bone.
distant frequencies of soft echoes
are the forgotten.
i listen to them mourn.
i attend their funerals.
i watch them repeat their tragedies..
until i alas become one of them.

we are hidden
in the abrasive stillness of winter.
you subconsciously sense us, when you
meditate on the concept of loss.
you will forget about us,
when the lewdness of spring enraptures
your perceptions.

we are but a distant memory
in the creases of your lucid, faltering mind.
you will return to us
when all that has blossomed will wilt,
pitifully,
to the inevitability
of nature and time.

you will remember us then,
as you mourn on a bed of wilted petals
and rose thorns.
you will scream and writhe within your skin,
begging to go back
to the euphoric chroma of other worlds...
homesick... for their comforting associations to
feed and awaken your depraved consciousness.
but you will never
again
return
to their beautiful bliss.
your nostalgia will nauseate you
and consume you
into madness.
you vie and you
scream
and you thrash away
your own flesh,
begging, ruminating,
obsessively
for the patterns of what
you once associated to be real.
you ache and
ache for love.
until you ache and
ache for an end.
you will get neither.