mice_are_not_rats fyn gula and when mice sneak about the house in the wee hours of the stolen morning, they must learn the lesson their parents failed to teach them. because in the paws of the siamese is a dangerous place to be. she may lack the claws to pierce the back, but she still has teeth that bite down on the neck and draw blood. how much will puddle on the spanish tile? what will she do, kill, or let go? dead, you are a ghost haunting your former self, rattling the chains of all your ghastly, tragic mistakes. wishing you would have worn the mask tighter, had a better hiding place, didn't love life so much. alive, you walk away wounded and never the same. you are judged harshly, witnessed as a thief of honesty, the deceiver of purity, betrayed by the ones dearest to you. mice are not rats you see. a mouse must nibble on seeds he finds outside and live in abandoned, rusty mailboxes. come inside and expect dissolution. break the rules and you break the heart of all that love you. 010519 ... . . 061015 what's it to you? who go blather from