Wednesday, March 3, 2010
a damaged fox bites out and never believes you only want to fix the broken leg. your intentions read loudly like the hunt it knew yesterday. you appear with something in your hand like a belted father set to ruin with the buckle. the weight of your grip is an unbearable dream and the empathy on your face reads like anger - and the hope that you could ever restore is washed in filth with the justice of others. no one is true, no one is sacred, no one is more than false. and even though your teeth are white with compassion, the mere size of you offers impossible relief.