she is a peddler of perils the quiet engine of passing time produces gremlins in the shadows of morning they steal the warmth from his cup of coffee they place landmines on his daily road to perdition this is what madness must be like he said to himself as the dawn seeped into the room one tear stained ray of sunshine at a time because each added moment lighted reveals more of her damaged face more of her impossible eyes her words hurt his ears as she bleeds his strength she is a peddler of perils whats your fantasy she cries out tied to the railroad tracks like a maiden or walking the long mile with the skeleton key in hand the key opens all enduring keepsakes and releases them to crawling thieves you cannot retain your world for more than a flickering moment so you loose faith that it can ever be done i miss her and i miss my daughter but she is a peddler of perils and she now comes grinning and fast fingering my head full of noise so my thoughts gather round like they are at the Battle Of The Alamo to the necessity of self preservation and the warm comforting blanket of self interest manufacture reasons to do what the loins dictate but its her goal to see such endeavor fold under the weight of her guilt trip back in the echo box she quietly shouts into the acoustic confusion madly laughing and the ensuing army of echoes marching in lockstep to her mad mad laugh of her mad mad laugh of her mad mad laugh we spend the day between the sheets wrestling each others sweaty forms i miss her
Posted on: Mon, 17 Mar 2014 11:12:18 +0000