Burden of the waif

Seek the posture that fits directly into the slot, Pasteurised with the rhythm of the daily burden, The signature of the waif is a burden, Held down by ball marked metaphors,

Creativity

What the f- is it? Do you know? I don't.

The No-Cry Sleep Solution

Matchlock panic attacks – Palsied palms Knotting chest And gut water boiling caustic. Life got tight and throttled. Watch me wriggle free From this jacket of meat – No zippers, no key.
Cherry

Rest Cure

Hand me the revolver – Today, the crushed hats of spinsters Scroll past like carnival ducklings And good God that weathervane Is asking for it. When the newsagent Hands me my change
Cherry

Adjustment

The first thing that happened, We stopped separating out Our glass and plastics. Dad turned the recycling box into a still And bracketed it to the roof Next to the harpoon and the razor wire.

The hunters

This is a true chiller, for those who are interested.
Cherry

The Sculptor

He carved a face for himself through milenia by looking at others,

one twentieth of a second

Cherry

eli gets caught

The door to the hut flung open at ten to four in the morning, and in stormed eight guards, pistols drawn and rifles cocked.

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