BreadcrumbsPressed too close to cave painted stone,Clouds of breath, orange and brown,Still never botherto hide your erection,Held in my hand,dug your fingernails in,hurt my fingers,left bite marks and kissesEtcetera,Breadcrumbs left behind you.Let me, please,be the less-loving,the heart-of-stone. or let me cry pearls,make a necklace when you leave.
Last Legs - SheIn a sack by the side of the rail-way tracks, a dark stain in the bag's material. Curled and folded she lay quiet and still amongst the brambles and nettles. She didn't shiver.But she wasn't dead yet. She was still dying.Key difference.She'd felt her heartbeat slow gradually over the time she had been in the sack. How long had that been? She didn't know. Time had blurred a long time ago. Times when her heart was beating fast and when her heart was beating slow, that was the only time she knew. She closed her eyes and clung to her final experience of senses. The rustling of the wind outside her cocoon, the creatures. She could hear trains far away. She heard a bird scream.She heard the blood crawling through her veins. Last legs.Felt the cold. Felt the plastic digging into her wrists and ankles. It hurt. Not much. She felt her hair tickling her chin.Opening her eyes she forgot to blink. She stared steady at the dim grey light that kept her company. She could feel a moistness. The