quiet noises like rain on broken bones
Drunks are already skittering over the roads in the rain. Roadkill bloated and wet fur matted and blood smeared over snarling roads that wind through shotgun permeated backwoods.
Second Christmas spent absolutely alone, this time secluded in the boonies whilst dog/house sitting for a friend. The jangle of wires is back: the universe crackling like cellophane around me, sensations of magical moments in which I might pass through a mirror.
How could I have given this up? The pills, falling like snow, chalk white from an orange plastic throat. Pills are death. No more.
Merry meet and happy Yule from a heart that's rotting in the rain.
Second Christmas spent absolutely alone, this time secluded in the boonies whilst dog/house sitting for a friend. The jangle of wires is back: the universe crackling like cellophane around me, sensations of magical moments in which I might pass through a mirror.
How could I have given this up? The pills, falling like snow, chalk white from an orange plastic throat. Pills are death. No more.
Merry meet and happy Yule from a heart that's rotting in the rain.