Thirteenth
The malady of a peanut fried in hot sand, blanching her papery voice, ashes redden into blackness and darken, more dawns die out, all the dead are not lucky to live, the guard of honour salutes not to all the martyrs, mute are the seeds of democracy tucked into low blue flames, burning to a cinder how can fire brigades sniff danger? emergency shouldn't be quiet after all, to be heard helplessness has to shout and loud makeup is the attire. Pardon my interference, I interpret for you an open secret, slow poisoning was never noisy but it brazenly kills in daylight, 'tis one of thirteen murder hacks the phoneix is clueless about. ©songbriti