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At all 5:58 p.m. 2005-11-12 the triad of perpetuation and the simplicity of your fragility. Like shrouds of splintered glass to devestate the withered depression of a despot mind in the haze of affliction to counter the stream. Just nod and play along, you think you understand. Circular retribution the razor and the way you used it so naive you think that the shattering will ease the silence in this weathered abandoned room. Clockwork premonition this shady lens that revels in the revealing of depravity and future blindness. A blood red summer to share. Under the floorboards where the children hid in the wake of your becoming when the shrieks rent the sky and the panes shook like leaves. Its waiting. A final howl as the windblown streets begin to fade and the casualties of this departure are calling in the ether the framingwork of this lost soul; fingers clutching at talent and bleeding dry as the potential leaks into the gutters. This will end in nothing back & forth |