Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

...her soft angel screams, delicately tearing at the seams of the whole affair, and like a haphazardly balanced house of cards, she falls around herself. a cloud of skirt and scarf whirls on the floor in a puff. spit from harshly formed words still sails through the air; the black dog's breath abated for the time being. a loudly ticking clock angers the stillness of the moment as the threads of her hair lie wet across her face and tie her in stucco light to the dreams all broken on the floor. her statue falls silent now and the colour of the night plays with the candle nervously twitching on the mantle piece, making stretched our secret shadows taper up the wall, up the ceiling like a charcoal satin shawl draped over a black stallion's neck. and now she lies in quiet tears that almost dissolve her....

well just MOVE the EARTH -

i've tried moving the earth but my pole isn't long enough, nor do i have a good enough place to stand.

i'm fucked! in my head i can move the earth.

Are you looking through my window again?

nope, doreen. if someone is looking, it isn't me. it's most likely that goofy kid at the end of your street. goofy kids always look in women's windows.

I was just kidding. I don't have any windows.

...she falls and falls like a pack of cards, yes, all around herself still reeling from words that cut like knives and shadows crawling up the walls like black memories of things said and done. not deleted. delete these bruises these screams these tears rolling down her fingers like words on white paper forming pools of blood around her hair caked and sticks and stones can break your bones, but what if it breaks your heart. & maybe you just need to dock your boat before you drown...