I soar into
my night mind, singing
a silent scream, veer
through indigo windswept
thought-corridors. Hunting
words winging away, a tumbling
white-moth avalanche.
Tiny, concept stars, they
flit and flicker at the edge,
the precipice of forgetfulness.
I swoop, darting amongst them,
choosing my prey.















Comments
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.-.-You say "pervert" like it's a bad thing...-.-
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