Sophia Bitter

An image is only what it presumes to hold and such an image is not but a reflection of something hoped and longed for but not sought after, resulting in lost premonitions of a dream like reality in where nothing is truly attainable and everything is imagined in volatile stages of somber illusion.

~Moi



Sullen eyes peer like blades, piercing through restless dreams, seeking holes of instability. Shadows seep through bones of worn-out years, wedging their sinister intent through marrow and mineral. Doubt, like cold-shocked fingers twist in and around muscle and tissue, wrangling from already weakened heart-strings the once sought after emotion of hope and good-intent. Laughter creeps up from the depths of straining cynicism, breaking the last true thread of a once sane and whole-full mind, spilling out through the cracked and bloody flesh of a crooked grin. Mirth gleams forth from pools of soulless gray, sucking from the air all traces of luke-warm doubt, replacing it with creeping hints of fear, which seep into the body, strangling all traces of primal instinct. Tendrils of hate lash up from the depths of contempt, searching wildly for a crack in the demeanor of his existence, but upon finding none, retreat sullenly into charred dreams.

~Moi