Lights blink in a strange way. Books lay cold in a pile by a door barred from the inside. Bottle next to words waiting to come free, old typewriter listens to fingers trying to...

See a way out from this hell created by sin and desperation. 

Shelly slipped from the darkness and placed her hand on the only thing she could hold.....

And it was empty.  Reality was a sad erudition of need. Looking past the eyes begging, she slammed in another clip. The old man looked his best in red, black and white.  She spread his legs emptied her clip. Watched as the red stain spread.

Jack threw her against the wall did her again and again. Shot her up and left her lying on top of the old man. Counted the money and slipped from the dark dreams buried in his past life.

Trouble rides the rails of north side coke, split in volumes of no place left to find.

Death just an outcome of high the riddle of next stop unknown. Walls talk to Shelly the ....

Movement of shadows sings and plays her corrupted mind. Attendants keep her real good.

Street takes her body again and plays her notes like a warn instrument. Judge said healed

Sets her loose to find a palace and a throne in a corner south side strip joint. Old but fringe....

Example of a game well played.

Jack smiled as she lied and took him to places he had forgotten in dirty corners of life...

Seeking silk and lace, she finished her task and slit him from stem to stern.

Neon speaks in visions of rainbows lighting keys in streaming moon light through a bottle broken in youth. The old typewriter sings, “Momma sleeps on an old mattress

Soaked in life.”

Alley cats crying for love, me I just write, wishing I could find anything that feels as.....

Good as the whiskey going down. So it is another night alone with momma and her past.