|
Pleasure left- to give compassion a chair, to sit beside the unholy ghost and host of all despair. Without so much as a quick goodbye, she just took her joy and left...
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
Compassion sat- counting her toes, preparing her sad epitaphic prose.
|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| With pleasure gone how can I go on? Dare I suture these frail and fragile bones to suffer a taste, the touch of you? | |
 | |  |
|
 |
| | |
| Pleasure left without saying goodbye, so that you might have a chance to die with truth upon your random lips | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
Slowly compassion rose, and put back on her clothes. She waved goodbye, and she too was gone...
|
|
|
|
| | |
| I wonder which of them was the best ride ? | |
| | |
|
 |
|
|
