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You probably think you know damned near everything about wizards and stuff, or more than you want to know about those phony blood-sucking vampires and all, and you're probably right. But I decided to kick myself back to life here in the shape of this near
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18484
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So for the first couple three days it was party time, ya know? Oo, I mean what's got into this man! Just wouldn't stop! Then the fun sorta wore out, ya know?
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13541715
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I say no by saying nothing.
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A spark is a gouged word: stewed to annihilate, scrambled, botched in a pot to dry. Lead us to the quiver, let us tremble. Noon, we paw nails under rugs, run fingertips over books, rip cupboards from hinges and spiral open the machine, for the creature is near the roof or…
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" . . . it's overcast with scattered rain along the Wabash River as I approach the federal correctional complex . . . "
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Rosea plays a bohemian plainsong for the cosmonauts among us, while her fuzzy apple hips spit glitter, spin strobes: pink shades of pantyline flicker; lip-licked neon hues scrape strings in B sharp, a gloomy clue.
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We dig up conscience-tunnels, pluck the play-flower of present choice for fun, run aground, past this dimly lit, though not to be underestimated, stage, and open door upon empty door, to nothing, for the lights are a pulse flickering in the perceptual per
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111100
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Can you see the rut? Can you dig your fingers into the flesh?
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There were echoes all around them, their shadows delirious and only existed in short spurts under the breath of the streetlights. They danced as their cigarettes leaked calligraphy across the night sky and she tried to trace it with her finger. He asked her what it said…
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Let whoever may read this know: I am an evil man, and I have done evil things.
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16252
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Hendrian went spastic, whitecapping the water as he rolled and upended, backwards with his head and chest underwater, legs and arms thrashing frantically.
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Rose, silence her desire when she, in this moment of desire, has passed into the grey and dawdles in the margins of such a hurtful unconventionality. Bend her astray from such a becoming. It would be a horror show: intimate, endless, and bloody, just the
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He told me he could feel an army of tears building up behind his eyes.
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Her fever spreads through lines of a plaid mini, over burnt milk, darkened to yellow. Fingers explore fabric folds up and into the lost dimensions of logic.
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