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Espy

#17

Actually, now that I think about it, it was mostly based off Chaucer, with a tiny bit of Swift. Canterbury Tales and A Modest Proposal.

And updated.

STONEWALL WAS A RIOT

Espy

#18

Updated again; yay for impromptu >.> My brain works too quickly sometimes.

...and often RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DAMN HOMEWORK.

STONEWALL WAS A RIOT

Quiet Man Cometh

#19

I usually get them when I'm either walking on the street or doing something else, always with a writing implement and reasonably clear surface just far enough away to forget at least some of what I wanted to write. Last time it was while watching a nature show and a fox huunting stuff beneath the snow.

*leap* *Piff!* Om nom.

Tea?

Espy

#20

-loves foxes hunting in snow-

They're. So. Prettyyyy. How you target prey that you can barely see or smell is beyond me.

STONEWALL WAS A RIOT

Espy

#21

gray
stagnant
solitary
in a whirling sea
of
color
a sea that changes
so many times
every second
that it doesn't
(does it?)
change at all
stops
moving.

like a lone shadow
amongst autumn leaves
monochromatic stain
drifting
wandering
watching
(ever)
watching.

dull ink
on
vibrant hues
waiting
pondering?
but
devouring.

black
and color
is still
inky
black.

"nihilistic
solipsism"
some may call it
erroneous
narrow
(mis)guided
un-

thinking.

colors
polluted
a taught habit
eating
consuming
regurgitating brown
"spectrum"
they know best
(or so thought)
try everything
do everything
absorb
everything
return
brown.

essence changed.
(for better
or for worse?)

black
unchanging
unyielding
tries
everything
does
everything
absorbs
everything

and eventually
(perhaps after a eon
or two)
returns
unscathed
unaltered
conscious
(while so many aren't)
of its essence
unseen
unnoticed

minutiae's metamorphosis
held close
quiet shifts
hidden
locked
away

and brought forth
only when the ink spreads thin
where others would fade
black
(and its heart)
shine forth
true
colors.

Espy

#22

Cold again.
Burning, icy cold.
Down my throat I pour molten gold
Try to thaw the searing glacier
Creeping upwards
Ever upwards
Leisurely
Without a care in the world.
Skin shattering,
Shimmering shard-like,
Crystalline remnants crumbling
Cutting into corrupted veins.
Jaws frozen
Half open,
Turgid tongue testament
To words unspoken,
Ravaged by ringlets
Of fierce frostbitten flames.
And the essence that emerges,
Those frigid fires gone astray,
Surging forth, consuming, razing,
Not what I meant to say.

edit: hopefully slightly less jarring.

Espy

#23

time ticking
ardor departed
gray
hollow
nil.

STONEWALL WAS A RIOT

Espy

#24

Flash of crimson
is
what?
I grasp at it -
Fled to the deepest, darkest
Most depraved corner of my mind.

Ethos forsaken
Cogitation convoluted

Pale, sickly limbs
Clinging, miserly
To scraps of fading light
Vestigial hope
In a world left forsaken
Disowned by who else

Drawing ruinous breath
To watch the pillars of aspiration fall
Basking in the unearthly keening of the self
The darkened skies radiating ash
A corruption of snow.

STONEWALL WAS A RIOT

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