Red

Good stuff from The Grateful Dead

The Grateful Dead

Anger. Burning, seething rage. There is a monster waking up under my skin and I can feel her stretching till she crowds me out of my own consciousness. I can watch her every movement, hear every word, yet it’s like watching a story unfold from the safe darkness of the audience. I can only witness the drama and sit enthralled by it. I gasp with horror as every scene brings her closer to destroying everything I had spent ages to build; but I am helpless to stop her. Standing in front of the powerful waves of her displeasure, I am just a small paper boat trying to stay afloat. Maybe moving out of the way is the only resort left to me. So I stand aside and watch.

I can see the bright red marks on his skin as her whiplash tongue tears his heart apart. Each word is aimed…

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