Oops, I did it again.
My obsession with reprocessing other people's art through my own diseased neurons hath wrought another collection of poems. Dark slabs of intertwined words soaking in despair and dripping both blood and bile. Borne of an unhealthy fixation on the interior journey of Cheryl Mason/Alessa Gillespie from the first Silent Hill game.
THIS STORY DOESN'T END THE WAY WE WANT ALL THE TIME walks among us, friends.
73 poems of trauma, terror, and the fight to win back control of the self wrapped in cracked scabs and pus. This is where the fire sputters and the burns bleed. This is where we become what we need to be, or fall into the trap of the recursive past.
"If you’ve been looking for another way to return to that special place; if you’ve longed for something new to scratch the ever-present itch for the horrors of the mind; if you miss Silent Hill, look no further than this, for a way to return there once again, in a new familiar and unfamiliar way, to feel the presence of those shadows pressing in, to hear the creaks and feel the madness within."
-TheGamingMuse, from the introduction to the collection.
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