ask_the_dust raze dirt and dead skin cells keep configuring themselves into shapes i'm sure i know. here a mouse. there a man. everywhere a flawed plan. i part the veil with words of wanting that won't be read by anyone. then blink them all away. no amount of scrubbing or screaming will rid me of this refuse. nothing will soften it or seduce it into leaving. it's the silent snow that salts every promise and pockmarked prayer. it's in everything. look to the light and you'll see. i wipe the filth from the face of what little hope is still mine to hold and ask it to stay. i beg it to speak to me. to tell me something i can believe in. like the breaking of a too-hard heart, it doesn't make a sound. 260322 what's it to you? who go blather from