Gremlins prying their way through thick walls of steel into me.
They don't stop, never stop - just keep crawling until the inevitable goal is reached:
Sanguine Steel.

Evensong bares nothing unto what spews forth from the child's lips. They drop. Drop faster than they ever had before, but this time it's different; the second they hit the floor it will all be over.

Awake.
Revitalise to the scent of burning. Within the oven. Claustrophobic. Trapped. Lucky to escape alive, some would say. Indeed. Too lucky. Too lucky so lie in wait until the darkness clouds over the vision and all is but scent and sound.

Over.

aye whatever son.....

jonylawson said:

You did not take pleasure in the Diatribe?