Dream #3

Tears fall, wiped by stubby young fingers, misery guided by the jubilant dance of beads and feather. Bodies cleansed and given by jagged rock to faith and fear. Time binding and stretching in doomed struggle against divining force. Weeping met by stoic grimace, suddenly overburdened by searching white heat, digging toward crimson ore. Hovering death ticks by, sprinkling life into clotting rivers, soul transformed into gurgling debris.

About Tietsu

Someday the words that fill my brain will fill cheap paperback books. Until then, I will collect them here.
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This is where words go

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