Monday 7/10/2006 12:19:00 AM

Some kind of novel with characters all dressed in frown. She said. Some kind of sanity clawing at the ketchup on the slices of bread. She thought loudly in the dim light flattering her smile. As it fluctuated between smirk and grin.

Some kind of story wearing an old taffeta prom gown. Lost in nights almost happened. In places that don't even remember our names.

Everything there is to say wheezing like an iron lung. That it's so weak. So bound to its disease it takes everything just to turn it into language.

My happiness is counted in pennies. My life measured in refusals. She said. Under her breath.

I'm here, not because I want to be, but there never let.

Me in.

Peter being such an ugly angel. Those gates being so judgmental. As every explanation fails.

If heaven were I'd tell it I could do without. That's it's too hard to find. And so self-righteous.

Such is the appeal of hell. That it has no criteria. Let's everyone in.

And here I am. She intoned to herself. As she gracelessly took stock of the choices she had made. Bell, book and candle all one again.

Grin not withstanding the proverb.

She enjoyed being ugly, but not the consequences.

Forty-five degrees later she knew the name of the angle.

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