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upon viewing a render by the talented 3D artist and superlative vendor, Prae. See Reine , here. She, Love-Assassin Her lure, a calmed sea Red autumn death trap disguise Soul smoothed, turns entranced Pounding heart silenced Leaves freeze still my captured breath Her bared shoulders.... sear Guard downed....stung and lanced Will cannot hold fast this heart Death become blissdom. See Reine , here.

I warn you now, do not go to accursed pale Ghosthaven Not a thing crawls down below, neither the worm or raven Listen now? Can you hear anything? Not a fly, not a jay? No, deadly silence across the fields as they stretch far away Save the gentle wind's constant endless howl For a gently creeping thing is on the prowl As malignant hands crawl towards the soil In a never ending monstrous toil For deep beneath the planet's ground It waits to hear just a single sound You've heard no doubt of haunted house? Well meet a haunted world. Above its bleach landscape a black and oil moon twirled A still-born planet, yet average climate, good sun, not too cold Yet Strange deaths happen there, people go missing, it is told The few who are still left alive are robbed of all sanity Turned into a gibbering mockery of humanity Bleach white grass sways silently across the ever silent plains Only the doom-laden warning scrawled on ancient stone remains By some far off distant alien race Who vanished

Keep wandering out past the memories of train tracks and old rusted railcars, the echoes of history and neglect falling away like the paint chipping off the metal let the dry grass scrape those feelings of worthlessness from your heart while you start to feel the ages drop away. Keep wandering and touching those places in you that have more permanence than the worn tagging fading from the weather-streaked carriages, less structure and more wonder than the grimy numbers designating the past, never going further into the future. Keep wandering onward, even as you leave the tracks covered in dirt and stones, being reclaimed by the earth itself, onward to the edges of the field, the ridges of a sea of starlight that can wash away the bruises on your soul and restitch the constellations into the fabric along your back with love.