And we were an odd group, those boys and I, but we were friends none the less.

Friends on the street and I bleed my heart gone dry in doubled over agony of despair.

Sanctuary tears slowly, neck heavy and heart bruised. The Portishead sings it’s siren’s song and her happiness wilts. The fey day came and went on the fan blowing softly. And she was content, is content with the puppy sleeping, but aching for the ultimate need.