burningheart

Day 64: It Was Another Dark and Stormy Cliché

My city of Wayne burns quiet tonight. The skyline stands distantly muted, not illuminated bright in the hopeful colors once shining down in a comfortingly familiar palette through the gloom.  Maybe it is the persistent haze of the unnecessary recent spring rains, soaking the city grey and threatening to anger the creek gods.  Perhaps it is the grind of this expensively lingering isolation finally catching up, the bills coming due because even though the world might be soon end, apparently the electric bill still has to be paid on time under threat of another tangible disconnection. Whatever the reason, it is so very here dark tonight. At least there are always the beers and other little helpers conveniently on hand, consumed shamefully in the shadows of …

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plague

Day 45: Play That Fiddle Music, Fool

The City of Wayne is burning tonight. I can feel the claustrophobic heat of the ever-encroaching flames, sitting here under the dying gasp of the twilight’s last gleam.  I can hear the chorused coughing cacophony of a city’s choreographed death rattle rattling.  I can smell the cloyingly unique stink of the pyre’s smoke blowing in through little windows originally opened in a last gasp attempt to finally breathe free.  Little did I know that it would only let in the muffled wheeze of distracted bad decisions, sharpening the precision focus on the desperately unmet desires of a single solitary guilty man. Many mutual mistakes were made that night, behind the masked bandit kiss of a pandemically inspired stolen embrace.  Harsh lessons were learned hours after, blowing …

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