Innate like a polyester rug, cold red ruptures from the character’s spleen and swaths across an impotent knife. The man behind the stage wall struggles to find breath,

A punctuation mark…! Molten in wax A shimmering flirtation; within the night

“If today was not an endless highway If tonight was not a crooked trail If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time Then lonesome would mean nothing To you at all...” Bob Dylan

Untold Memories, battered bruised and cold, Skeletons wondering, gnawing at those doors, Chains bearing your brain; whispers echo on, For where lies this secret never to be told?

From the Moment I embraced you into this world, An momentous Love was untaught, your delicate Fingers gently curled, A new part of me you had brought.

Must be through the shrubbery now, aware of where you are. Aware of what and who is around you, aware of who you are. There still must be a lot to see, a lot to wonder and glare at.

Did you know that slugs like dairy products? What exactly DO we know about them? Hmm?!