Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Defenestration
They melt from the walls, faceless spirits I once knew when I was living. They twist and turn, so whispy and white and beckoning to me. I grab their hands, I feel their fingertips, so elongated and light. They bring me back with them, to their brand of hell. Still holding their invisible hands, they lead me to a window and as I peer out, they push me. As I fall, I remember how graceful the hands that held me were. I anticipate the fall, I look forward to the crunch of broken bones.
1-28-09
1-28-09
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Defenestration
Defenestration
