The sun looks awkward and vulnerable without the clouds in front of the blue behind.

Language is a flickering thing.
It lives. It breeds. It thrashes and twisted.
Some words newly created, freshly born.
Some words old, struggling to be remembered.

Words can be kind and gentle.
And with a twist, cut-throat and brutal.

--Cuts like a poem--
--Reads like a pie--

Slips like liquid poison from one's tongue
Slides to the trapping cells of one's mind

...and the boy's gleaming smile
Is just a tad too sharp
On this edge of the butcher's knife.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Wounded people look so naked.
…
It's not the pain.
It's this surprise that 'oh fuck i'm fallible'
Don't you think it's kind of funny?

…Pride.