It pleases me to no end that the silence on the front is appeasing the gods of destruction who wait quietly with baited breath to swoop in like vultures, the question is, whose bodies will they take? The dictator sat squarely, his back against the wall, avoiding bullets from top advisors. It seems the grim face is not out in the battlefield, but there, on the large white wall.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...