Notes: I have no idea where this came from. Except Rune fed me angst.
The demon chains me in silver, brightly shining. He uses me now and then, taunts me with the warm air. The demon steals my strength, corrupts my purpose to his own use, corrodes my shining copper to rust. When he is finished, he chokes me back as though my passion were a game he's finished with.
The demon has eyes of midsummer leaves, softly fluttering, hard to the touch. His hands are sawgrass. His white smile is a splintered hole.
Someday I will defeat him, and taste the sun's warmth on my own soft leaves.
The demon is doing laundry.
[end]
Email: Nightfall@suntemple.org