Thursday 6/30/2011 01:12:00 AM

the chase. fingers in the spark. burnt not by the fire, rather the darkness.

the rabbit in the tool shed hides behind the saw. not a stick of wood left to build with. the girl waits by the hammer. but there are no nails left to hit. time withers at the thought of her. a manic clown drowning in its makeup. if there were years they were too short. if there are only minutes they are mercilessly long.

the stone orchestra that chooses her thoughts. in collisions of reason and madness. too quiet to understand. too loud to ignore.

trails that stumble between now and then. the manic curiosity of if. chokes of thunder. squeeze through the clench of darkness. in a trickle of numbers dangerously close to zero.

the rumble of choices. lightning bolts and syringes. make more sickness than they cure. the taste of the infection. white with desperation. colors wrestled from disease.

a pinwheel in the wind.

spinning.

alone.

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