Monday 6/04/2012 12:05:00 AM

soft wars win her over. the invisible fire that still remembers. the color of burning.

the sear of each moment. as it concedes to the weak conditions that turn flesh into trust.

No hunt. Only scavengers. No rest. Only soiled beds. the complex monsters that offer her a crayon.

Soft of tip and hard of edge.

All the colors are wasted. Brief messages from here to there.

An empty pocket of listening. Adrift on an ocean of screams.

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