Thrice damned she howls like Cerberus to the night Guarding virtues that lie like forgotten stains On oaken floors that pave the willow lined paths of the past That lead to a meadow filled with the detritus of wasted love Rotting under a forgotten sun that no longer shines In a heart gone cold therein lies the haste of anger.

— Neil Leckman

#virtual-cubicle #wurms #anger