Dayglow fangs of daylight rake my face. This is a burgundy place of waiting. Of why. Of the soon to happen. My punishment for helping Sisyphus is to continually scrub my name off my skin with a wire wedge of anger. Rage is a black ocean inviting gray wars and porcelain ghosts. A rogue wave somewhere drags my doppelganger under, and I freeze under the weight of an invisible, dark shore. Sisyphus has his rock, I the deep, unrelenting fear of the sea.
Miniature Moon 