Plumes of Death

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She misses the unmissable on a Thursday night, like those vile men in the bar who constantly approach her with wicked intentions and unwanted advances. Attention is what she craves and denounces all in one swallow. She can’t live without it, it’s her personal destruction and anyone brave enough to step inside her clown car packed with too many secrets, not enough time, fast living in a slow lane will soon find out what it’s like to ride on a twisted merry go round inside of a haunted mansion. The story has been told many times by many different men who never made it out alive. They’re all trapped in the basement on a never ending winding staircase that leads straight to hell, swapping stories of how they got caught in her patchwork quilt. She was so beautiful at a distance until they got too close to the real thing. They all were too confident they could last; sooner or later they would have been compelled to get off this ride called life.

©privatethoughtsmadepublic.2017.

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