Good old snail mail to seal the deal.

I lose, I lose.

The battle is lost, but the war is unknown.





They lie still,

Blank clean slides

Eager to stain newly washed garbs.

Putrid emotions engraved on their bodies

Refusing to fade.

No fight against time,

One by one they fold themselves

Sent into their bright red coffin

Mailed across the horizon

Opened by the stranger dressed in pink.

“It has come,” she said

Excitement resonating through the ink.


Haven’t wrote one in ages.

Maybe I’ll write another.