My Misery Is Reaching Epidemic Proportions.

It's Only His Thumb Brushing Slowly Across The Lower Edge Of My Lip, But It's As If Time Slows And The Sweep Of That Thumb Below My Mouth Takes Forever. It Is No Spell That I Know Of, But It Holds Such Magic, I Can Scarcely Breath. He Pulls His Hand Away Fast, Aware Of What He's Done. But His Touch Lingers.

Write Like It Matters, And It Will.

Power Changes Everything Till It Is Difficult To Say Who Are The Heroes And Who The Villains.

Careful There, Poet. I Might Start To Believe You.

Jeez, Someone Needs To Push The Reset Button On This Planet.