I notice young girls picking flowers off her gravestone; their clean hearts are soapstone. Their small sorrows are for children alone. And all of their stories will never be told.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés horror avant-garde emergency-press



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Once upon a time Karen saw somebody nobody else could see. She thought to ask an old man: who were you? Once upon a time I thought to dream of medicine. Now I dream of medicine by the sea.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés tragedy suicide gothic literary-fiction tragic-love-story emergency-press first-aide-medicine new-books-2013



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This is my one last call and lullaby for this eternity. All of my medicine.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés pain love death horror song



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The world was alive, the sky descending; our times were lullabies and sad goodbyes.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés pain sadness death gothic sublime innocence-lost



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Now that Karen has been resurrected, I can travel beyond the black mirror. I can discover who I have lost with the
floating hearts and severed heads of my medicine. I must now whisper my other friends back too. I’m sad they’re gone…sad and blue.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés poetry beauty death medicine goth severedheads whispersinthedarkness



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Who was this girl alone so late at night
in search of a faded cassette illusion to disembowel the clocks of time’s intrusion? Those eyes belonged to the most beautiful maniac I’ve ever met. Our love is a vine of entrails that can follow any coffin anywhere, no matter how deep any gravedigger might travel.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés poetry insanity beauty death scaryprose video-stores



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And maybe one winter it will get too cold and I’ll forget about the summers we once shared. My family portrait might
fold in too, producing the same horrific effect as Jeremy’s: that I, all along, had another sibling who eclipsed and became me—a prosperous sibling, an imposturous sibling, who outgrew a sense of time and place in which the three of us were everything to one another. Then only my blood in the sea could unfold and lead me back out of the origami.

Nicholaus Patnaude

Mots clés poetry loss death mystery regret origami seeingpossiblefuturesinthepast



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