Tonight, your locked doors are about as useful as mine were that night you came to me. In my heart I know the scent of the gasoline I’m painting your house with inspires the same fear in you as the chloroform did in me.
A restraining order is not justice.
I don’t have to live with you inside me anymore. That was like being dead.
When I strike the match, I come back to life. With a flick of my wrist, your hold on me goes ablaze and brings light to the darkness you forced on me.
Now I’m free.
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alt="Harbinger of Death by Jonathan L. Tolstedt"
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alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Price of Belief by Andreas Flögel"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Abhartach's Thirst by Andrew Kurtz"
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