Friday, August 25, 2006
With scapel like precision and the patience of a vulture,heads rolled, hearts were broken by well chosen words.
Thieves in the night,Banshees bay at searchlights. Unable to come in from the cold, the tie goes to the gunner.The unbearable din of female laughter crashes through my own personal gaurdrail. Sliding down the bannister into a firestorm. Cradled in the unclean hands of an indentured master. I sit in a circular pit fashioned of wrought iron and wanton flesh. Scattering stress fractured bones of friendless pets.Screaming at the night to let me be. Begging with the dark to set me free.
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