The Wax Conspiracy

All my questions, never an answer, nothing but a headwound

Wake up, it's too late.

Middle of the night and the missing are as blank as the stares down in the middle of the day. A hazy scene of waves that shimmer with the shine of sweat and blood. More room to move, but with less to move about, around and among.

But then, nevermind.

Pain is what it is and comes when the best part of the mind lies in wait ready for the expected. And then the unexpected rears a gleam to splatter any other.

Gone with a flash and all taking the seconds to tick with a reveal that slows the show down a mighty wind.

Slow is slow, but never slow enough. Never enough for even a plataeu.

Go to sleep, it's too early.

tick tock, goes the clock

Ethan Switch

Written on Wednesday, 27 September 2006

The Wax Conspiracy

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