Death On the Moor Chapter 3

Smelling bad and festering with yellow maggots and pus in the jellyfied state is how I imagine briefly Myra would look on her deathbed, laid flat on  a mortuary slab in an old building with peeling paintwork. I was there looking at her while someone held a clipboard. Then I was thinking about my poster on

Death On the Moor Chapter 1

I’m scared of polyphony. I mean real orchestral stuff in forte or fortissimo. It’s the connection’s of it. It’s connected to my head to my heart, to my body, my soul and I was stupid enough to invite it into my room. I know what I mean and it’s only because I am broken rejected and annoyed