Im suffering under an invisible weight: a collection of words, thoughts and lies. Brewing secretly for a series of years, presented before me upon an antique platter, my back pressed hardly against the angles of the spindly mahogany chair, cool chains force my wrists down against the carved arms, positioned regally on either side of me. I was seated like a monarch, waiting to be served a heavy meal – except this was no luxury. My arrogance questioned my presence, I felt uncomfortable in this harsh new world. A large table was laid, the wood was knotted, the grain harsh, running out before me. Each place strained under the weight of thick plates and dished, framed majestically silver cutlery descending to a piece appropriate for the use of the smallest rodent. Flickering candle light revealed row upon row of pews, each carved with distraught images of punishment and sorrow. Above the table, a huge leaded window was patterned with reds, purples and blues, intricate details and stories told in a language alien to me. At the far end of the room, I could make out old wooden bookcases, filled with powerful yellowing books, their covers peeling with age and abuse. The shelves ran high up the walls, snaking crookedly over the thick stone. The ceiling reached a point, many feet above my head, the bookcases ending abruptly, their shelves still filled with exhausted novels and stories.

My eyes were drawn back, to the splendour before me, the air felt solid, frozen, but warm. I knew by now, the punishment awaited me. I understood, by now, the crime I had committed. The light flickered, the candles went out. I let the poisons trickled down my throat, my neck pressed back, drowsily, I felt my eyes close. A medicine, a remedy, for what I had done, I let it engulf my insides.



I havent been on here in more than a while, things have been a bit, er, stressful..