The Last StationSmoke stacks rise in the distance        we've been here before        scent of horror on the tip of my senses        railway cars filled with scorn        unclenched...

he bathes my wanton senses saturating them with his intensity so addictive... so nourishing... it's become a part of me   he pins me to the weight of my convictions holding me accountable... to my own beliefs and needs asking little... and knowing he'll gain everything each time he spreads...

A thin old man with a pointed beard squinted at the lake glistening in the sun, threw a couple of fishing rods into the boat, and began to untie it slowly, but suddenly heard a clear voice calling him. “Good...