35. [fear]Fully; No[one]

Though I walk in fear.. I am silent from design..

“Ginge.. you are less than twisted, but definitely worse than cheeky..”
~ My one “true” Aquaintance


I had been staring into the abyss for quite some time. Possibly, probably, awaiting the moment that the shadows would stir and something mischevious would stare back. Novel, but alas, it never seems to be the breath necessary.

I always forget that part. Breathing. Mundane, but is it? Often I find myself holding on to it for no other reason than the habitual diversity of function seems to have left me. Lost, so thoroughly, in whatever bliss was whirling tenderly along the lining of a mind cast aside; forgotten.

Those words were an awakening, and even though there was no sound that could be heard, I believe it was felt like a shiver in the air between us. Laughter. Something completely devilish, chaotic, and heard so often in the silence of batted lashes that he expresses from time to time his own madness; unsure which is real.

I know absolutely nothing about him, nor he I. Friendship is the least of what I would refer to silence as. Mutual glances from time to time over the flow of something red, and flavorful.. a hinderance that is tasted fruitfully. He breathes for me, and in moments, the film of mist shifts and the darkness settles as always around us. Worn, carefully, without the touch of disdain so many fail to notice. Too many lay eyes up on flesh or hands upon the eyes in meaning to grasp at one or another; there is never either. There is space. Clarity. A hush that is desired, until, at the emptiness of the last swept motion of need it’s simply gone.

He leaves me alone.
That earns my presence.
For the sake of this arrangement; I do so hope mutiny remains behind his tongue.
I have such little interest in the sound of lies.


30. D-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e

..and when her silence was shattered, the splinters pierced the Abyss; lighting the embers with her madness..

Gather the tendrils as they dance through the shadows, and tangle them in repetition against your fist. Listen as the sweetest desolation plays as a symphony against the screams. Their melody sways beneath the whispers of a haunting smile, torn at the edges, and laced with the corsets of the pristine little souls bathed in ivory..

Pull them tighter..
Bind them to the rings against the Monster’s teeth..

Gracious door traced in ivy that swirls, lit by a shell with a dying flame still bracing itself against the hollows. Enter carefully, wistfully, as though your toes were tracing the sand in the storm brewing ahead and behind what can’t be held. What can’t be followed.

Shut the door behind you..
Flick the lock and mark the edges with secrets shed..

There’s a sheet where the girl with the stitched joy used to rest, lain in heaps, and folded at the center just so. Just at the ends where the folds are slit, and the curtains are drawn to keep the curious​ within. The answers hacked of assumptions are under the floorboards, and the ghosts of the present are boxed away with the Kay beneath the bed. Upon the bedpost. The knob against the ground where the roots are twisted and knarled to hold the dollhouse against the counter..

Marble never felt so smooth..
Trace the misconceptions till they are welcomed at the treasures keep..

Ecnelis met the binds with a smile, and in basking beneath the fallacies of anxiety; she was faced with her future.

She was faced with herself in the mirror of the Dollhouse.

Silence slipped from the constrictions of freedom, and from the ashes of sheer distinction rose who she’s always been.

It’s a pleasure to meet you all.