Caitlyn Mooers: A Necromancer’s Motivation

Norah Antons: Untitled

Tarnished Reflections

Mason Alcon

One morning is when you can see, That alive is what you could be, Your mind is dead and gone, Scatter the ashes on the front lawn.

Everything is changing around you, They can’t understand what you go through, The flashing lights of the gods are bright, Taking our minds into their clouds of light.

The faces we see collected in a book, Why even bother to take a look, The mirror on the wall tells a crooked tale, When you search frantically to no avail,

To find meaning in a missing life, Inner mind tormented with strife, You can’t hear the sounds of anything, Not even the sound of birds twittering.

The trees blow in gales that shake, While you drown in your mental lake Made of internal tears and shakes of pain, While you are slowly going insane.

The clock is ticking, tik tok, tik tok, Bang that door and break the lock, Open it up and find the keys to hell Take them up and you rebel,

Leave them and you will die. The media tells you a great lie That everything is swell and fine And yet, we all still toe the line

Of accountability and free will. Their tongues, sharp enough to kill, Shred what feelings of morality you may have had. They annihilate them and feel glad, Knowing that you will soon become nothing, Easier than leading sheep to the feeding. Their words are a slaughterhouse, A dulled mind, once there, can’t arouse

From the fate which it shall pursue. They are calling, the gods anew, Tempting you to be made in their image, In heart and in mind, they gave advice sage,

And yet nobody is more wrong than they Because we can’t finish what they say, To do to ourselves, to strive for a form Of imperfection. Now conformity is the norm,

And now we are all lost in the storms of normalness, Blinded by the sands of conformity and sameness, We make our own ends, we die on our own, Our own choice to reap what we’ve sown.

Richard Pronto: Verdigris Pierced Cuff