Once upon a time a long time ago,
in a time where time was better understood,
there lived a thought…
well several really, but they liked to roam in groups.
The cross and the switchblade…
But I digress…
This writer from the abyss,
this aborted child,
this cancer on your brain,
she decided to come back again…
He decided to first scope the scene,
from behind dead eyes we watched the screen.
When they were ready, he presented herself.
Soon they were anywhere and everywhere,
Pieces of ourselves, ignored until now…
Now impossible to misplace,
though we know not from where they came,
They were here in our absence again.