datura

Rode the ends of the horizon on the back of my dragon, but his body rattles with liquid coughs, slain through the soft scale of his belly, the one vulnerable spot. I try to steer his failing body towards soft ground, but underneath lies craggy rocks and angry seas, great big granite teeth ready to tear into our flesh and paint their gray lips with our lipstick blood. Bury my wet face into his strong neck and I try to drain the strength from my tired body into his wounded one, in hopes we make it to the sunlight's edge, where yellow fire eyes will blind and burn us with the hopes and dreams of a thousand voices, cremating us into feathery ashes of tomorrow.


I work harder than anyone I know, for the least money though when I add up the damn hours. Been up all night trying to catch up on emails and stuff from my customers. Self employment is both emancipating and enslaving simultaneously. Yes, I don't have an evil coffee soaked boss looming over my shoulder, but then again, I don't get to go home and leave my work at the office. I am sooooooooooo tired. Finishing up the last bits, then a bit of sleep, thenI have to get my bum back outta bed and tackle the looming stack again. Eye yey yey! My bed is calling to me, like a Siren luring me to my doom, and I can't wait to be embraced by that voice carrying on the wind in my sails.