The eyeless stare that turned medusa to stone, and set her free.
Sight and sound, effects profound, sex and freedom go so well together.
Doesn't it feel good to keep the cigarette unlit?
S/he threw away the journal you left before it all came.
Only one entry, S/he can't help but to keep writing
in between the slash lines in her arm in an attempt
to justify the pain.
Is blood the only thing that's truthful anymore?
:"Don't you know how beautiful you are? Such great literature
can wait to be written. Hold my hand, and write the ressurrection
of Miles, John, Ella, and Billie in the middle of my palm, so I can
have something beautiful to hold onto."
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