My presence is hidden in your Oblivion. The last drops of stoicism evaporate before the morning light.

Hopeful perspective falling away, lost in your dark matter. Your dirty chatter bleeding through the fabricated walls.

I quietly wait for the opportunity. My silence is calculated; an assassin doesn’t make any noise.

Published by David W. Jones

Writer. Artist. Sleepless Blogger. Wrestling junkie. Comic-Book Nerd. Every moment is a story View all posts by David W. Jones