Where to go?
The image of dread on the delicate figure's door.
All they need is reiforcement to have spirits surge even if the possibility of a strike down is still there.
Casting the median aside, the fledglings bloom under the wing of the elders.
Torn between sides.
Without a lover where do I end? I become cruel to friends, I feel, for the lost intamacy. Though with one they could get neglected, the same way I've often felt.
Perhaps I need a median more than thought.
The shirt, buttoned tight, stretches across my back. Bones in view that a killer could easily break yet when in such a position, I am the most safe and carefree.
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