Lying On Highway Number Seven Seven Seven

Dear Tainted Saint,.

I remembered I was influenced by a Frenchman, Baudelaire.  Flowers of Evil sent to this broken shadowy heart, consumed by doubt, a bitter open hole if you ask me!  Welcome to my life.  I have no more to give.  You see me sitting here amazed if you read my work.  Passionate soul but unable to showcase writing immortal for the lost tainted saint, the one who loves me.  

And now to you, Tainted one.  Does your heart cry out for the swan?  Does the Nightingale still call you? It’s been awhile since we were ONE with nature, across the beams of immortality of His creation.  I can’t tell you why I write this, but I do, and you have entrapped me with your charm, intelligence profound, thy heart comes to embrace me.

Lying on highway number Seven Seven Seven we hold on to the ideal, the desire of all hearts.  Longing, wanting to crawl, out the rabbit hole and into reality.  Like monsters, demons, with emotions out bare, we appear.  Ghosts in the fog to meet once more.  Letters to the lonely downhearted,  singing her sorrowsong opera.

This one’s for you, oh dear Tainted Saint.

Just hold on, I'm coming.

The End

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