Waited in a graveyard.
Full with silent emptiness.
Until your chains rattle.
Aware again.
Stirring as if a toxic tangerine cocktail.
The chains are sounds of dashing cars and stormy weather.
Playing with the winter trees.
Dried out leaves.
Fiddling with thought patterns.
Incantations.
Flying past onward moving.
Razor blades skimming.
Wild and windy,
Tempestuous.
Teasing thoughts from the abyss.
Taunting.
Teasing.
No more than unwanted recollections.
LIVVI