slithering between the music when quintets are actually quartets. slick within the city walls and laying low enough. for now. I'm a symptom of the chasm, and the bridge teeters & sways ironically. a tether fashioned with pregnant pauses and useless grins. behind my skull is a gun loaded with insomnia. i'm a powerful shrug in a forest of severance. but you have teeth, and they all line up perfectly. I am not the sole architect of this maelstrom, despite the name etched into the keystone.
winter brings out the ghoul in us all; those biding their time in the hidden tombs of our hearts. could ask to take up arms against, but the legions would only display a powerful shrug. no banners flown, just muffled war-cries. battle plans torn into pieces as small as possible. reasons for which remain grist for future mills.
no harm in how I feel, or how I describe it. no harm in the desciption of history, aside from antiquated ideas regarding people simply wanting to be with eachother. and no harm in a dobro.
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