Jump to content
AceOfSpadesMM

Last comment wins

Recommended Posts

Every new years day, men gather their bodies for a bonfire of trolley, they bring rope and stakes to hold their prizes over crackles, knowing the next night begins the hunt, and the forage. They hold a note in voice as the lives they leave; ash to waste, in burrows, in forests, the next steak lies to their wake. The howls of night echo through brush, eyes of wonder cut dreaded tears down their hollow spines, and through the air they weave their lashes, leaving feathers like dust. 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Please sign in to comment

You will be able to leave a comment after signing in



Sign In Now