I offer no apoligies for what you see, read or hear on this blog.
I do not pretend myself a poet or storyteller, for it is not I who writes these words. I am merely but a vessel. In the deepest despair and only in the sweet embrace of vice, does The Charlatan dare appear. Only then does he ever put his pen to paper, ever more eloquently than I ever could, to expunge our demons through his prose.
For a second I was home. I saw your face as clear as day. No longer blinded. I held your hand, pulled you in. You whispered something but before i could understand the vision was gone… Interrupted by the blaring of bomb sirens going off.
I wish i could rememeber the last 3 words you whispered to me. forever you’ll be a ghost haunting my every thought.
