• West of tired and torn
  • Back
 by 

Where the rain divides the day by might. A gaudy neon lit street of advancing age. Replicated only with iron gated windows fashioned with sun stained decorative trinkets. Those that live behind such stated views must recoil in fear or tremor. Hastened with every missed beat of the rain filled night. Harshly met with strangers only to become lovers lost in a foreign world. Happiness drizzles and loses itself quickly as the night boys walk quickly toward nothing you see. The end of the road quickens before it even begins. A lust filled dread sweeps fast in front of the wind. All is all and lost is lost. Such is the pettiness of it all.

Leave your comment

Leave a Reply