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Nightlightin a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self. – e.e. cummingsNightlight
At night, the skeletons come out of my closet to dance. All of the half-formed, unbalanced dead line up for a sort of gruesome waltz. I conduct an orchestra of one thousand lies, but the beat becomes their own, moving at the pace of their rusted limbs. With no intention of letting me sleep, they group together in a middle of a room.
In the dim light, the notes fade away; the rhythm jars, trying to keep pace with each mismatched pair.
by ~sexyemu
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