From what is the wispier heard that makes the ear to bleed. Penning a word on the heart like a branded calf. A woman beats her own emotions with a stick of inexperience. Young involvement with the wolves... sleeping in the den of liars. Her youth is a reverberating pulse.. lacking empathy. The days to come are days of loneliness.. reds and blues. These days pass by slower when void winds the hands on the clock. The butterfly is most beautiful seconds after death, when seen by the eyes of an expert in late night love.

by Jeremy May

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