A silver of a star dances through my sky to crash into another lifetime. Always the journey, never the destination. Those lovely columns of fanged smoke wander through plastic gardens, where kisses blown at a forgotten love still drift looking for a face in a world of masks. I see a light on a dead horizon glowing like a bed of sapphires in a sea of ash, but it's a distraction and nothing more; just an instrument to measure the darkness that swallows me from time to time.
Currently reading:
Spy Glass by Maria V. Snyder
