Friday, June 25, 2010

The (Moonlighting) Metalsmith

Here's my lame attempt to wax poetic:

She fashioned out of scrap, a branding iron bearing her name, took it to a smoldering fire and ruthlessly seared his heart aflame.

He doused the hot metal with a thousand tears, cowering in shame, releasing the acrid stench of a burning soul that had almost gone insane.

When she withdrew the smoking implement, a raw and excruciating wound remain, in the exact likeness of, the mirror-image of her name!

The wound had healed over a million moons, but the unfeeling imprint still appears like a stain, distinct and indelible, a reminder of his once agonizing pain...

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