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Alison Ranger
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Pralines and Dick
So loud it's like no sound. Yelling from behind the glass wall. Faces in the corner, but no sound from their mouths. Soaked up by my soft cries. Strapped down, made to listen. Crafted with pride by baneful hands, never to forgive... They start the fog machine again. And it's snowing down cold. I could run away from this all. There's something out there in the fog, running scarred and lost. No tracks on the ground fit the one's he's making. Far away, that lonely supermarket doesn't seem so haunted anymore.
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