Lines
9 November, 2006
Author: Rick Ryckman
Riding the razor ---- over and over.
The unforeseen hills and valleys that lead to the crest of the snow covered mountains.
I am on a down hill rush.
Inhaling ---- amyl nitrate stars.
I believe in the illusion of magic.
The circus wire entwines my circumference.
Pledging love to the silver bullet ride!
As another javelin's silver tip plunges into the vein.
The inferno thunders through my essence.
In the euphoria ---- I will scream ---- and scream ---- and scream.
Storming the gates of hell!
I heard my voice echoing ---- '' bring forth the razor from the hangman! ''
The candle is lit ---- flickering shadows hammering the tracks of my wounds.
Breathing and trembling heavily ---- I am mesmerized as I hoist my ax once again.
No wine un-tasted.
No ransom to be paid ---- for my thoughts ---- feelings or soul.
Within the speed of light ---- the room is crowded.
Will I be the only dancer on the ballroom floor?
When it is over ---- or when it begins.
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