Shibboleth
Fantasy, Horror and Fable
Step into the court of confessions. The judge, myself; jury, myself; accused myself. But these aren't the proceedings of an official act. These are the marrow raw truths only alive when they tear themselves wet and visceral from my mind, jack the ripping their surroundings. Hope to come to terms without loss? That laughing precipice, that maw is saying "no".
Wrote on the tube home. Between Victoria and Blackfriars I think.