Wind tattered Banner

Or

Feeling kinship to a Phantom

Oregon music rings in the air as I sit down to my keyboard and write my black little heart into the great cyberland void for your perusal. The edge of my mask digs into my skin, slightly. It’s a constant reminder of my deformity. A slowly simmering burn snakes through my center. My ego has long since scarred worse than my body ever could.

My nature is gentility. My inclination is towards protecting and empowering. My tribe is under seige by the bon ton. Years of bitterness periodically chase me into the dark.

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