I’m very thirsty; those missed opportunities are future endeavors. My thoughts are unchanged; I struggle to collect my wits. My tongue anguishes for amusing speech. I wish I could manipulate time to change the fate of my deserted well that’s run dry. The temperature continues to stifle; my spirit is about to die.

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