Nothing here to be had.
. . .running riot through red rooms.
This world is hard and heavy. Most often darkness rules; but in the sunlight somewhere sings every bird with broken wings. Broken Wings is part of an… Read more “Broken Wings by John Holland”
As she dances she sings with sweet sickness of her lost love.
Wear me for a brooch.
Floating . . . on the tip of a madman’s tongue.
She trembles inside the silence of flesh vaults.
… tanned legs so beautiful they make your heart ache.