Vendôme

Vicissitude Did the heavens hang higher to aggrandize your vicissitude? From the primal vines you serpentine ushering empires and visions sublime   If thunder be your heartbeat and determination then let lightning linger in your mind from deprivation unbounded by ecclesiastical measures, you drape your golden body over boundless wonders  The dreamers drown in idolization and ideals but sharper is the blade of guilt the thirst for ravishing power and the departure from righteousness your celestial eyes close and halt On the descent, since the fall the leathery wings enshroud your undying faith In your shadow woke Wicked Mephisto  down is the plunder into ecstacy  but who can share your burden of villainy?

 Nosebleeds through the Ages  When I was trying to fall asleep last night, I felt a stream of liquid gush down my throat. When I was about thirteen, I would get bloody noses almost once every month, no matter the weather nor season. The bloody noses didn't matter to me then, but I was very frightened yesterday night. Perhaps it was the thought that blood kept running down my lip, then down my chin, all over my hands while I scramble for chlorox to clean the bathroom tiles. I was barely recognizable in the dark---from the bathroom mirror's reflection--- that is. My mouth tasted metallic, but couldn't bother to revert that then. During that time, I thought about how satisfied I was with my current status.  I feel like I can't detach from my skins: almost impossible to shelter myself in my anonymity. Have I became more shallow from these mundane influences? Has my memory weakened so much that I can no longer recall what happened yesterday? Journalling everyday when I was y