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halfliter
this tributary is on fire, the saltwater's burning my eyes and i'm treading water. why'd i choose this one? the morning sun is languid on my shell of skin. it drips gentle questions and i give it nothing. it's as if my very cells know that i never asked(more)
ccmoore
     I was a stranger in that country, merely passing through the night on a journey, when deputies of the law came out of the woods and arrested me.  They took my things, and brought me to the dark castle.  My papers were incomplete, or improper, and so they shut me(more)