Turning edge of fealty
Broken river lines
Poison on the coffin
Wicked little lies
fingerlick:
Nevermind
fingerlick:
He twitched. Not my fault.
Do not look. Do not Love. Do not Dream.
… probably
The wheel my mind.
The paved design.
The echoing lines.
The momentum divine.
Once in a gleaming grove, I witnessed a movement of the wind. There, past the missing moment, I noticed the flight of pagans. Dancing through the triviality of clarity.
The Summer heat, cooling my pain, ray traced a fractured dream. I was alone.
Looking to my right, I spied a harrowing rabbit, guessing my intentions and beckoning my cry. I leaned forward in my mind...
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