At The Heart Of Any Terror Is

Here Then At Long Last Is My Darkness. No Cry Of Light, No Glimmer, Not Even The Faintest Shard Of Hope To Break Free Across The Hold.

The Thread Has Snapped. No Sound Even To Mark The Breaking Let Alone The Fall. That Long Anticipated Disintegration, When The Darkest Angel Of All, The Horror Beyond All Horrors, Sits At Last Upon My Chest, Permanently Enfolding Me In Its Great Covering Wings, Black As Ink, Veined In Bees' Purple. A Creature Without A Voice. A Voice Without A Name. As Immortal As My Life. Come Here At Long Last To Summon The Wind.

Make No Mistake, Those Who Write Long Books Have Nothing To Say. Of Course Those Who Write Short Books Have Even Less To Say.

Her Smile, I'm Sure, Burnt Rome To The Ground.

...life's Big. If You Can't Fix It, Give It A Spin.