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the dumyThe Dummythe dumy
In that forgotten part of town Where wasted hopes and dreams abound, A wrinkled man with life near end, In hopes to have at least one friend, Fashioned bits of wood and things And made a dummy run by strings.
He sat alone for hours on end, Conversing with his only friend And found delight within the fact That he controlled it's every act. He told it how he never had A chance, since all his luck was bad Although he'd tried so to succeed - The dummy nodded and agreed.
And how his journeys in romance Had never given him
Devious Journal Entry
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waves.
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he walks among us, but he's not one of us . . .
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Fantastic!
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Fantastic!
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Fantastic!
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"What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls?
I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits."
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Fantastic!
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