The morning mist rises up through the trees slowly and deliberately, brushing bark and leaf seductively and thoughtfully, rising slowly but surely toward the bright blue sky and the unforgiving sun which promises to burn it away in a move that can only be seen as suicide.
Birds swoop and dive, looping wildly on black feathered wings toward power lines, back down deep in front of cars, tempting thoughtless drivers in some insane kamakazi flight pattern only the birds can comprehend. Surely they know the risk, the possibility that they might be crushed in a grill, smashed beneath tires.
Somewhere a fifteen year old lies listlessly, staring at the glowing alarm clock, draped in black and staring at a flame, waiting for it to kick in. For the rush of poison to coarse through his veins, bringing that sweet delicious pleasure that is followed by a sudden crash and burn, an overwhelming depression not even he can battle, but he thinks it's worth it.
all contents of this page copyright 2001 flowerboy productions.
This means no reproduction of any kind (and that includes printing) of this website will be tolerated. You are visiting this site of your own volition