Brittle Like Dust

Brittle like sand in the hourglass One ... Two ... Three ... Four ... Mourice ... Talking ... She's on the edge ... Salty tears and spray tan smears, she has needle holes and low self esteem. She takes pride in her serpent tongue and demon speed. The thin line of the way of life, a thin line between love and pain. She answers the phone and guards the gates. Semen breath and bruised cheeks, I assumed you were delirious from your shallow ramblings. "This has to be it", she said. The other one she insists, your delirious and she persists. Clean slate ... - I don't want this! ... but I do love her...