Salt rained from graveyard clouds. Great clumps of the resurrected visiting old haunts. Half-rotten mouths and milky eyes. A cracked porcelain doll. An angel-winged demon. A gypsy with two-heads. A painted whore with a silver tongue. A vain daughter with beautiful, broken hands. My shoulders are heavy from the burden of stubborn grudges. I write and erase the apologies of months many times. The words of hindsight don't signify.

5:05 p.m. - 2017-07-03