Tuesday, January 03, 2006


They sound like the roar of a lion and taste like shattered glass. Each spill sighs a silent glimmer. What story do you tell? None, for the prison hides you well.


Blogger PerversoActor said...

Not only my window and my door and my touch and my wound I open. I open my tongue in two and three tombes and it's secrets. In the dark where no one hears a teardrop fall.


9:19 AM  
Blogger ScarletSphinx said...

A hand for the brave and a knife for the handsome. Sleep for the touch and a throne for the wound.

Nice to see you again, perv.

12:14 PM  
Blogger angrygrrface said...

Dark. Beautiful. I dig it.

6:21 PM  
Blogger Slain said...

::brushes snow off jacket::
yer damn cool, Scarlet.

count me out of fire-fights though. not lookin' forward ta gettin' all charred and sh#t. ;)

7:20 AM  
Blogger Kate said...

Beautiful. I look forward to reading more. :)

7:57 AM  
Blogger ScarletSphinx said...

Thank you all :)

5:43 AM  
Blogger Slain said...

"..our passions were those of the tempest, the surge and impact of battle.."

excerpt from The Garden of Fear

::grins:: Familiar, no?

4:53 PM  
Blogger ScarletSphinx said...

I have not read that story, but the passage speaks to me. Although, I'm not surprised that you are familiar with anything by Robert Howard, sol!

6:35 AM  
Blogger Slain said...

::nods:: u know me well..

5:05 PM  

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