She did not talk like you and I. It was a soft tone, a language I only understood after she’d spoken. Big ones, small ones, blunt ones, sharp ones. Stained or stainless. She talked in daggers…
All the discards,
She had the sharp words
Edged,
to carve nerds with shards of verbs
The rusty razor blades to leave you dazed and filleted
Flesh turned inside out, displayed
Hopelessly on a page of her conquests who didn’t make the grade
The grenades of later dates, misplaced in time
Because otherwise, surely the universe was being selectively cruel.
I just like the helpful information you provide in your articles.
I will bookmark your weblog and test once more here frequently.
I am quite certain I’ll learn a lot of new stuff proper right here! Best of luck for the following!
word artist
Your kind words mean a lot. Thanks for the eyes.
Heavy concept, awesome illustration. Great post!
Thanks a ton! Glad you liked it.