gaunt truth's

behind these pitted walls,
beyond these rusted gates,
the remains of the family lie.
if you were to open the creaky gates
and traverse the shattered slabs that crumble beneath the heels fall,
and if you were to open the fading doors and humbly walk through the tall grass
then, at last, you might come to the final resting place of family and friends.
the flesh has turned rancid and corruption has played its part but not even the years that pass can remove the one lasting vestige of what once was.
for memory they say can be captured in the memory and the dna of those maggots and worms that fed on the corpses and, in its turn, the crow who fed on the worms and the roadkill who now sits, majestically, like some charcoal princeling , has in its folded soul, those self same memories that play as a flashback.
dead and gone but the captured memory can still be seen flickering in the eyes of the crow.

original images by stickleback2 with additional image manipulation and words by cocaine jesus


Ruela said...

wow this is great!

Robert said...

blows me away when you do stuff like this

this was genuinely creepy

makes me want to try my hand at writing something gothic



cocaine jesus said...

thank you both.

Lazare said...

outstanding, cj. great to see a bit of stickleback back here too.

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