Avatar Author: ... i use my vocal chords in a morally corrupt manner because most things don't make sense; therefore i'm a glaze-eyed dreamer incessantly imagining the life of my next door neighbour. i live a big life in a small town. i sh... Read Bio

watch the seeds of raw observation slowly envelope his heart with a thorny grasp. A tall man rushes forward from the back of the bus and tears the driver from his seat, tears the shirt, tie and singlet from his chest. The driver stares with wild eyes, gurgling pleas of help and future sanctimony. He groans and his face contorts with pains beyond his chest, pains that fall from his dreams and his past, dreams that crawl along his oesophagus and wit with constricting pace. The tall man weeps as he bashes his mortal fists into the chest of a man controlled by ghosts. The driver moans and falls limp as though he has fallen asleep; eternally trapped in a terrifying forever amongst his past. Sirens wail, ice melts and hearts die. A moment passed, a door closed and a mind stopped. The driver fails to exist and abruptly it is done.

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