“The worst stories usually make you think: 'but nobody had to die'. These are called true stories.” LifeWarStoriesRealityDeathPoliticsPovertySocietyHorrorDiseaseMurderNightmaresTrue StoryTrue StoriesDeath Toll Author:Moonshine Noire
“you're the fly on the wall hearing all, seeing all ears of a wall hearing all the secrets perhaps you're the vines creeping over the old abandoned mansion walls dusty, soulless and dead bringing a certain curious life to rubble and I think you're the jewel-eyed gecko sneaking around the warm summer walls between jasmine and olive branches sticky pad toes, clinging to the walls peeking in at lonely summer spicy love-making through silk curtains from the bright orient breathing in incense and tasting decadence climbing the sharply barbed walls the smooth cemented white-washed walls because walls breathe too” LoveLifePoetrySummerColourOrientalGecko Author:Moonshine Noire
“The locals died and shrivelled with the autumnal leaves as their plastic, seasonal smiles faded with the last of the holidaymakers.” LifeRealityDeathDarknessSadDepressionAutumnNihilism Author:Moonshine Noire
“(...) pick up your axe, start at the roots don't miss the trunk, never forget: to end life truly and finally start at the roots or end there.” LifeDeathNatureHurtTreeDepressionDeterminationSuicideNihilismPersonification Author:Moonshine Noire
“His room was a sickly dual-tone of crimson and charcoal, like an Untitled Rothko, the colours bleeding into each other horribly and then rather serenely. The overall effect was overwhelmingly unapologetic but it grew on you like a wart on your nose you didn't realise it was a part of your identity until one day it simply was. His room was his identity. Fiercely bold, avant-garde but never monotonous. He was red, he was black, he was bored, and he was fire. At least to me he seemed like fire. A tornado of fire that burned all in its wake leaving only the wretched brightness of annihilation. His room was where he charmed and disarmed us. We were his playthings. Nobody plays with fire and leaves unscarred. The fire soon seeps into chard and soot. The colours of his soul, his aura, and probably his heart if he didn't stop smoking.” LifeArtSoulDarkFireSocietyColorColourSmokingAestheticApathyUnrequited LoveGothicSociopathPsychoticMisanthropyCrimsonUnapologeticAestheticismRoommatesRothkoSootPlaythings Author:Moonshine Noire