Silvered strands of paradise trapped in a widow’s peak.

Sharpening its strained potential,

ground

down the last drop of hope.

Not a soul came for the party. Not a wanderer in sight. They came to lose their life.

Strained potential s o u n d s like a siren yelling at you to r u n away.

A thief in the night idles…

praying on you to fall asleep so he can rob your dignity blind.

My life is a movie, and I’m not an actor. But the scenes are rejuvenating me