Even-- Alone--

I //skrit skrat// black ink on stained paper like a Mickey Mouse vibrator-- a vague circle waiting for a truth that will never come.

Sick. Sad. Worried.

A cold breeze of omen blows between pawn and rook.

The *** -- and meaningless feverish unknown. Why must we sink like honey into milk. I am not warm.

Why must you disolve alone- empty as I am?

Perhaps I am the one who does not exist.

"You can't escape what makes you tragic, you know."
-ORGY

Yes
No
Do nothing