Dust between the edges.
Simple traveling stories bring
Voice to the flames at the Crossroads.
Stumped and tied with dozens
Of chances weighing you down.
Frozen bits of dripping fear,
Soon to be yelled at by sobbing droogs
Regretful flies buzzing around
Broken forms of the hesitant.
With the ending plain to see
In the Ink,
Under the soft, slicey, Oh-So-Thin
Skin.
