choked
four cent
spell
tortoise shell

five days before sending the rain to fall.

assemble the rebel angels.

strange days...

tear open the white wicker seal.

broken.

i slithered like ice through her eyes.

there is a match. open play and forgotten from afar. there are bruises on my hands but i don't remember how they got there. a friendly smile sits with me. she twitters on about life and i try not to be selfish but find myself speaking all about my life, my past experiences, my demons excised. what is it about being at a bar alone that gives others the impression that you're lonely? a lone gunman chats me up through his bottle of beer. we're not wine drinkers. he asks if i'd be interested in a kill.

chill.
in the round.
faceless fornification.
make the call.

underground...

*dez