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The Hours

Vist Natascha Tallowin's Profile

The Hours

The suffocating anaesthetic of guilt wears troublingly on my mind.

Crackles of unexpected hysteria elucidate within my veins.

Whispers collect into passages of time


- hours.

Odd pockets of reckless abandon fade,

Only to wash up again,

stronger this time.

A grudging desire to be better than you,

keeps the truth from my lips.

A desire to be something more than this,

more than human.

To wantonly crave another, so much,

more than ever in history.

My Mind alternates between creating and consuming,

blurring the parallels between romance

and fiction.


and insanity.


and Love.


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