The POM
Published in

The POM

Ode to Belonging

How does the bell toll

Waking sourly I can’t remember the terrible nightmares but I know they will stick to my skin like festering fruit flies drinking the blood of my ancestors. Where oh where is my grotto romantics I loved so much? The place I felt like home.. open the back door to a wild glowing fire, burning shins and calves to buggery sit so close together with the heavy rock on this time. Never forever it won’t last just like mother and father they cut up ties, gone now to the same pathway for scarcely a gargoyle present. Time to tell the past or future.

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Mimi Bordeaux

Mimi Bordeaux

2.3K Followers

Renegade of prose_+ creation of the troubled mentor-= abyss sinking memory flowing through subconscious mind: it's the dreamland coming:+