Left-Handed Chronicles: 1

15 Jul

As I write on this bench, my legs grass’ floor, the thought occurs to me, of which I hasten to say more. This shaky thriller’s pen impedes me a bit, though with breath and experience, I may correct the tilt. Ho!, though, Woah! though, as I remember to meditate, but no, Oh, Lo, so, no one is at the gate; and I must refuse my breath it’s bait…for your’s and clarity’s sake.
I see shadows and suspicion, may well be by own natural disposition, paranoia my hateful friend, cousin to a neurotic affliction – A flick of the wrist, a glare of hers and his and my mind creates the competition – A step ‘pon a step, a creak or a click, my mind will generate a thousand boundless dystopic conclusions.

Because hop, skip,

hop, skip,

hop, skip,

pounce.

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