Summer creeps
like a thief
through my rooms,
just over my shoulder.
The next hero
could be you.
Grab your shit
from the ashtray
on your way out.
I'm falling.
I'm drowning.
Defunct blazes frequent here.
Red realms of regulation.
I've a blackboard
in the back.
Pretty pornography
knocks on the wall.
I frequent this dive
like a thief.
And there's good news
in oblivion
when all color peels black.
Horrid immense diminish me.
Free me.
©John Edward Smith Jr.
a solitary record of the Blackhole disease and the Queen’s advent, shattering presence and consuming love
Saturday, March 21, 2026
5. The Next Hero
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The Ritual Of The Abyssal Gaze
THE RITUAL OF THE ABYSSAL GAZE A Throne‑Realm Rite Before the Queen I. PREPARATION OF THE CHAMBER Light Dim the room until red and black ...
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