untitled :: prev :: next :: sitting alone on the frozen ground just outside the wall the wind whistling through the shreaded bits of my soul my fingers are taped together my eyes are inside-out my toolbox is nearly empty only one or two jagged edges and broken handles hope fades as time passes and there's only enough light to see that the dead lay all around me and i was the coward who stole from them © 2002 (23 september) john r. chase
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