It’s been ten years and I’m still searching...searching for the man who stole my soul. I’ve been through every back-alley black market and shady soul vendor, where men go to sell the lost souls for cheap cocaine and drunken slumbers. I can only remember the smell of the sea and ash.
“SHE is out there...lost in the realms of forgotten realities,” a blind gypsy said in passing
I turn but he is gone and how did he know my soul is named SHE. The scent of the sea and ash fills my nostrils, SHE is here,...but where...
I’m left waiting...waiting...waiting...looking through the blood stained glass window, sipping poet-tree leave tea.
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