against hope"Don't concede the battle until it is lost."She wears prune-purple bruises on her chest and tire-track gashes on her spine, and like when the fox bites the hound, it is painful.She is gorgeous but she is still just a spine with out a vertebrae; while I am a selfish lover, that lets languages of forbidden hope rot in my throat, and rest in my jaw.( and we both take a step back, and fall through the holes in the clouds.)"Don't let this sanity slip from your hands, your priorites are backwards but your eyes remain aware."I wear bite-mark gashes on my stomach and vinyl-green bruises on my eyelids, and like when an insect drowns in water
waiting forTheir skin is rain-colored, and lightly stained with pomegranate red to remind them of when the saints were called upon to slit their throats while the summertime sky was asleep,(and they don't remember because they were busy lying through their teeth, hoping that it would count as flossing.)There are three of them, three beautiful girls, suspended over the land in a balcony by a thundering ocean. Their eyelids have flaked away, and the older of the three girls mutters; "Now we can see the world the way it is meant to be seen, with our eyes wide open."and the other two reply simultaneously, less than excited;"I'd rather see this wor