You are not lost amongst dark angels; the pillars of light you dance around are not meant to illuminate.
But burn.
We all have strings. From wrist to wrist, from throat to throat. Tying us to our secrets, our hungers, our friends, our family.
Yours are not mere strings; you have wrapped yourself in barbed wire.
Come pull on my wire…
Come yank on my strings…
I want to bleed for you.
*amen* Such binding and sharp-edged ties we collect.
We should catch up some time old friend… life has gotten… interesting. Soon the broken doll will have new scars, ones that show even.