Solvent Confessions

Aaren Herron
1 min readAug 26, 2022

A pale room
Brown fuel restricting escape
A wooden sarcophagus open at the feet
The dealer of Death rests still
Falling asleep at the wheel of fate

There is no reason, it’s inconceivable
Socks off with no regard
For the blood that soaks
Leaves no stain in these drawers

Across the table stands an angel
Guardian Variety
Fertilizing that which wishes to die
A secret or an offensive gamble
The Guardian shines a burning light
Piercing through the Adversary’s armor

Still, a smile persists
A 15 year coat of arms
Covering a fading heart
The Guardian pursues
Raising a fire around the Adversary

The smile shakes
Tumbling a tower of salt
The gaze grows brighter
Illuminating that which hides beneath

A dark mass
Flowing through veins of black
A slime-filled oil glistening in the golden glow
As its defenses grow weaker
The Guardian minimizes the distance

A burning ember begins to rise
Pushing towards the gaze
Tearing through mass
Revealing itself to all

In the rise
It burns all that protects
Incinerated into the night
Invading the lungs of the Guardian

In the moment
A life remains

Oil pooling together
Amidst a pair of stained socks
The Guardian calms
Defenseless black void
Glistens in a warm light

Secure in the safety of freedom
Weightless to humanity
Hovering above death
Unaffected by its pull

A lid begins to fall from the ceiling

The Guardian smiles



Aaren Herron

Creative writer working to hone his craft, no longer at the expense of a mental state.