the sky and it was. The burgundy on my t-shirt. When you splashed your wine into me. And how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlet, it was. The mark thеy saw on my collarbone. The rust that grew
and fingers grasping. Shoulders collarbone crushing I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages. Forward and right, freeing myself like a butcher. Feeling the mash of bone and sinew
the *'s the cream?". Another jerk came out the kitchen with the M-16. He tried to cock it, blast these shots like, rockets. Crushed his collarbone, ripped his arm out the socket. My move for the
throne. Like a token of respect, or a homage poem, or an ode, I've been on. Tossed in the air by my own arm, and launched so hard I broke my collarbone. And it's my time to go, but I'm still not leaving