tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17704333.post-70323390890057583852008-06-30T00:56:00.005-04:002008-07-01T00:06:24.514-04:002008-07-01T00:06:24.514-04:00

In that abyss. The holes in her head propagating. Splinters of sound. Fidget under her skin. People. Fierce infections of touch determined to find her weakness. She is not immune to lonely men. Nor sad men. But she often confuses them with the manipulative ones. The canyon. The endless pit falling into my hands. Relentless downpours of nothing. Drown failing fists. Until I am incapable of

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