faminehome illustration journal

cellar door/s

dear creature // tattered king

nothing grew there, save the bitter memories of gardens

sweet dark, sweet talk

radio called all round

they step forward, with hollow eyes, into the darkness

collecting pictures and objects that unite us

the stark reality of day surprises you, as if

you forgot it could happen like this

like waking up from a dream

or, of course , the nightmare

but if there was more –

“there isn’t”

but the world is filled with vast amounts of noise

which we often mistake for meaningful results

“their faith

would have you

swallow a great deal

for a small comfort”


the human dimension,

which makes us

everything // we are

steadily settling into

the fundament of

an other existence

every thing, we are

By a w a y l n d x

Artist, aberrant mind

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s