Avalanche Fan

The damage, the rotten scent of sickness, it was a carnival ride that never ended.

Imagine ghost-white faces. Imagine a broken Tilt-A-Whirl.

Quarantine The Sick

Your upturned nose, my eyes trained down on you, our silence is thwarted by the shuffling of feet. The big question remains unanswered. We’ll cross that bridge in time.

Hideout At the Hutch

She carries a diamond gun in her golden holster, her bandolier is snug across her chest. It stings and then it itches and then it’s gone and then it’s back. Bullet wounds are like mosquito bites on the bridge of your foot.

Cramped Outter Spaces

Inside it’s pitch black all the time. You’d have to be a bird of prey just to shuffle through the halls. A face projected on a television screen nods and smiles but feeds you what you’ve already had.

Bodies On Display

Changes erupt like geysers. What was once a predictable routine feels an awful lot like discovery with the passage of time.

Yeah, Everything Is Alright

People complained when he would hide his head inside his favorite cask to breathe the fumes of a once potent concoction. And despite being bone dry for many years, he would run his thumb along the inside of the container, then swear up-and-down he could still taste the brew. Everyone just laughed and called him a thumbsucker.

You Neglect to Pay Attention

A real-life demon, just a mile down the road! Locals claim to have seen it with their own eyes, but I’ve made a living out of exploration, and I’ve yet to come across anything quite like what they claim to have witnessed. Until further notice, all they say must be treated as heresy, and thus stricken from memory.

Pit Stops and Free Air

Each location looks exactly the same, each attendants’ hair in its right place, each oil stain is sustained by cracks in the pavement. For the duration of days, these identical scenes are far from ideal when it comes time to slake our thirst.

Grab Everything At Once

Urges, they pounce like mountain lions from behind crags to overtake poor, defenseless you, completely oblivious to whether or not you can even keep your balance. In the time it takes to blink a shot is fired and lost track of; an idea is long forgotten. Frustration is as real as the sun is bright.

Kissing Rock Bottom

Streets won’t come in clearly, there is only endless static. Stripping down to nothing, blissful children dive into the fray. They leave behind their empathy for the natural world, and indulge in chaos. Chasms like churning rivers smile as souls are swallowed whole.