Thursday, March 24, 2011
The inkless drawer has left patterns on your back in the shape of a map. The bandit lent you his gun and now you're on the run. The rules are broke but you'll play anyway. The leather on your skin is wearing thin. Another notch in the belt can be felt. The trigger pulls and shot blanks ring lust in your ear. The heat has left you red handed, and the skys blue it drips over you.