...Gone away, on the edge of the sill, leaning too far the air fell in and the creatures ran from the dirty of winds to a sanctity I lick in sin. Shrivelled, my face dies in the bright with the wicked staining of soiled eyes. Passive I'm not, I grope at my throat where the burden of tempest waits to provoke.....Burn. I fever with the hues of blood, heart beads harnessed to the shards of was. Dangerous as day, the rains evade, i'm drenched in pallor....languid....grey.....
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