10 Sep

Skidding across the bonnet, paint ripping and scraping it’s skin away as it bounces off the windshield, pelts through the air and grinds into the pavement, where is halts, twitching and oozing. The life force of a thousand men, still clinging to the world, bent on it’s mission though torn and broken. Dirty warrior of the sky.

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Posted by on September 10, 2011 in fiction, insects, Photography, poem, short fiction


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