Lost Causes and the Ghosts that stray there

throw words around like: frost and death and fire and habit. so much nothing in one place astounds the eye and wounds the heart. just the other day i felt that i had come back, to this place i had remembered (fuzzy as in a dream), to feel the crackle from fires of old friends. i was taken back to the complacent, lack-luster foam of substance, always wanting for something more. it isn't enough to run away. it isn't possible, or a choice, to forget. it's harder still to leave the place and let it die.

"I'd be lying if I said I was completely unscathed."

"More important than money? Who is this?!?"

"Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly, sealed up with virgin stitch, if it hurts baby, please tell me."