The Missing Link

March 21, 2013

The missing link belts tunes fashioned from twisted, internal memories.  It hides the broccoli, force feeds inferior scotch and reminds of impending anniversaries.  It hides a bed inside a wardrobe and sleeps in a cocoon made of feathers and pillows.  It wakes with the feel of fur and a rough tongue upon the cheek as though it were real.  It sounds like the deceased.  
There is an imposter.  The imposter is loved it for that but likewise, it repels.  Always does the imposter talk.  Never a moment of silence.  The high-pitched chatter deafens even as it leaves.  
The murder weapon, hidden in a statue, is masked by the smell of marijuana and blocked by a blue goblet of earrings.  All they wanted were espresso martinis but violence has it's own unique sense of humour.  
Waking without a Homicidal Maniac in one's bed is the least safe place, for it gives the missing link room to manoeuvre and grab hold.
She loves to remember.  She wants to forget.  She honours this with your tears.
 - Written 2013-03-21


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