If you can find it,
I dare you to look inside
The black house on a hill
Where three suicides were survived,
The remnants of their pain
Reach vapourously for a light
To expose their nakedness,
And the hollowness of their eyes.
If you're nearby,
Why not chance a look?
The forgotten undead
Would be glad to have known you.
There are fantastic stories
Hidden under the splintered floors,
Romances and tragedies
That you could be part of.
Why not have tea
With a dysfunctional malevolence?
The eyes that inspect
Every movement, chill, and hush,
Have a hunger for your love,
You devotion, your affection
And a hatred for pain,
And the gentleness of touch.
She's wrapped up in sheets,
In the bedroom, where she lived
Still hungry, still aching,
Still decaying from inside.
This Halloween, you should go,
She'll be delighted
To find the Haunted House
Is where she has always resided.
Cool, quiet,and still mornings; alone.
A chord striking, resonating, and going silent.
Pale light still warm enough to touch faces.
A pit in your stomach, nowhere to go.
Fall, fall, September;
Autumn sadness, stillness,
Peace and horror.
Burning, burning, bonfires and leaves;
Passions singing, sang, and then falter.
You'll never know their love again.
The sky is beautiful, blissful, and so are you.
There will always be
A rain cloud sheltering us from the burning sea,
A wave of trembling gray sky
Separating the sunlight from you and I.
In these days of windy shade we shimmer,
Starlight, moonlight, refractions twinkling in time,
Sharing and searching for truths in each other,
Where faces imbue our spirits with its shine.
Waking up with a patient hunger,
Taking my sweet time to think, body heavy from a long sleep,
I put myself together, slowly, silently in the rising sun.
Becoming aware of myself brings a strange new comfort,
A focus without sharpness, and silent sublimities.
Peace, in its few moments, is shockingly sweet.
Pleasure is simpler and easier to accept,
As are my pains, fears, and many other familiar happenings.
I care more for the thought of existing than the person I was ever could,
As though a portion of my emptiness was washed away,
Cleansing away a brutal year into my first transfeminine spring.
At 6 P.M, Christmas night,
When there’s no shadow on the frozen ground,
It’s better to stay inside with coffee and cream
Than to risk being seen out of doors in this town.
The weather alone is enough to have caution,
The first things we find are often their winter clothes
Followed, not far away, by whatever else they wore,
And finally, the body, often half buried in snow.
It happens every year, but we couldn’t tell you why,
Only that it’s irrelevant where one’s supposed to be,
It’s 20 below freezing just an hour after dusk
And there are hours more waiting before anything can be seen.
They stagger, it seems, to the woods from the roads,
The thickets leave cuts, which make them easy to find
Following the broken twigs stained with blood
To the places where the victims inevitably lay
An old tree, bent and rotting, where we find them reposed,
Or by the bridge, in the stream, where their skins turn pale blue.
Sometimes they seem to drop somewhere randomly,
And only rarely are there signs a struggle ensued.
What we mean, is you’re welcome to stay if you must,
We’re aloud to be festive, if we don’t leave our homes,
But Winter is the master of the elements tonight
And if you care to see another year, you’ll stay out of the cold.
Dark chocolate, melted,
Mixed with coffee and cream.
Grey skies, cold wind,
And blankets of orange leaves.
Jazzy lo-fi with my morning tea,
Earth & spice in the air I breathe
Death of summer, sweet relief
Apple cider and marshmallow treats
Afternoon walks in long dark sleeves
Reaquaintences with the old silver screen
Gothic novels and scary dreams
A celebration for all macabre things.
October is the month I like to savor;
Its bitterness, sweetness, strength, and mystery.
It reminds me what makes me feel alive,
Being sensitive enough to take pleasure in little things.
It’s like kisses under a thick comforter
And shivers from a well placed touch,
A chill that sweeps over your entire body.
A gentle shock that opens you to your reality.
Dear October, I love you,
Sincerely, Sanya Elswyth Walma
These clouds, this wind,
My habits and mood swings,
Cigarettes and coffee,
Guarded hearts, tender connections,
Horror movies, memories,
Kissing in your parent’s basement.
October, yes another,
Let’s do nothing in October
But stay warm and witness death.
Nature wants to sleep.
I’m cold, but you’re warm.
Nevermind the ghosts,
They make the air more profound.
A pleasant sensation,
No better way to fall
In this moment.
Cold is coming
To swallow us up again.
This quiet anticipation
Makes a comfort, divinely strange.
Chill October, the delight of my year.
Black coffee and jazz in the bitter autumn breeze.
The quietness and stillness of the dying season.
The rush of freezing winds and coldest rain.
The scent of spice, hazelnut, and cider.
The newest bad scary movies and costumes.
The mega-packs of sweet processed sugar.
The haunted houses and classic horror films.
A cup of coffee, a blanket, and Mary Shelley’s novel,
Curled up listening to melancholy jazz.
My favorite month, my favorite season.
Delight of my year, for all the little things.
The calm and ominous clouds of October skies
Dark and gray, l’ombre filtre sur la terre
The bittersweet droplets of Autumnal rain
Cascading down pleasantly through the air
Silence weighing heavier over the season
le murmure de le vent, singing through the trees
Through my jacket sleeve, and caressing my hair
Gently pacifying my emotions in the breeze
Imagining all these things as my element
Forces of nature representative in me
Quiet gentle Autumn, Somber skies of gray October
Carrying and cradling me to deepest sleep.