high pecan
truth be told
truth be told, the walking and talking is blocking my train of....
shocking.
not really, but i thought i had bought the last apology
infected by anthropology.
it's a trilogy, a triple punch to the sternum, which didn't concern 'em.
beaten, broken, a token of words once spoken.
chocked and croaked and built a moat around his core,
what they saw as a bore.
BORING.
more like a charging boar, screaming at the top of his lungs MORE!
waking up sore, tendons muscles, bones tore, washed up on shore.
STRANGE....
falling away, leading him astray, aspirations, dedications, to a life once lived
through sand once sieved.
memory flash, dead men clash in roaring furies bash...
...he stands unable to lash....out.
still somehow CHASING CLOUT?!
HOLY CRAP! can it BE a more obvious trap? resting.. no.. cradling in fates lap.
"get up"
"I don't want to"
"It's not about what YOU want now is it. GET UP"
"I refuse"
bolt of light, strike, bright adding to his plight.
warning from voice unknown
unseen
unknowably close, far and in-between
"GOD?"
A scream filles the air.
the fire around him stilled pretending to care.
the battle quieting as if to peer into souls lair.
a mind bending thought they all share.
"IS THIS REALLY FAIR?"
"What is?"
"Any of it."
"no"
"not ever?"
"not even once."
wooden finch
steady berry
sleek spoke
quiet nacelle
