The dark energy brings a little death, every time you throw a lighted torch at -
the hunched mass of a wounded pride when you were wanting a way out from within in vain.
A neurotic dilemma to arrive or not to arrive for the final act of -
kicking the bucket. Silence one day will speak to me in whispers for a beautiful elegy of a charred remains of a renegade god who always wanted a silver rain.
