The cold no longer touched her even when he did, she'd moved beyond his ego straight into her Id. Buried under layers of his dead, damp earth, suffocating darkness lay
...
Threads pull taut
within my mind,
to wrinkle the fabric
of memories.
Pain, stretched thin;
a surgeons scalpel-
dissects emotions,
lancing old scars
with new insights.
Dressed in better days passed, he stood.
Ashamed, defiant, angry-
he watched her approach.
Nostrils needled by scents
exclusive, divine, monied.
Even the sound of her shoes was haute.
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Lean and Mean Vote - 11/25/19 "Religion"
Congratulations Ma'am! Anyone that can vacuum-up a goat ghost deserves to win.
Tim Today, 08:25 AMFunny you should say that, bd'. I voted for myself too and