dead air

(i'm here with you in mind, or so it seems) yeah this should do at least until i find some place to do the night, some bed to lay my bones across these dreams, then not to wake until it's all beyond me, carried through to where i have no part in it, nor word his bent and twisted mind might bring to bear in secret ways his curses have. his fight is not a fight with me: he need not fear the words i choose to say or dare to leave come riding down this ragged patch of schemes so easy to detect, so quick to place, so sure to spot the fake: he knows before i even move my tongue, the sound is fond of every form of malice, any piece of wasted residue from that sick thing he called our home. yeah right. don't take to heart what any of them preach, him and his friends. (the thought has just occurred: he might look in on us. so what. if so he'll see it lined with echoes of his own perverted name: it's not as though i care to earn his praise, nor having earned his shame to act the worse the wear on his account. that thin excuse will never make it right, that bit about that truth i had to know to set me free.) but this should do for now, and by the time he figures out i'm here, he'll be too late: the life for me to gain, and him to lose.

malignancies 

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