Jul. 12th, 2010

garnigal: (Default)
They giggled in graveyards, heads together. Secrets and stories passed between them without words, through the semi-permeable membrane of friendship. These are the games they play.

They meandered by mausoleums, stealing glances through downcast lashes. Young love, manic in shy passion, conveyed by a touch, a look. These are the games they play.

They cavort by crematoriums, the only place where the dead don’t walk. Fire burns, but not as hot as the fear and despair that drives them. Teeth and nails leave scratches and bites, and then maybe she’ll be able to sleep. These are the games they play.

August 2025

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