Creative Writing: Stockholm Syndrome

The trains converge in the same spot every day Anonymous; that
might be nice

How would you know? I haven’t any money to board The train
from Stockholm to London, but I’ve heard of Such fancy
things.

Acrimonious luster covers her face, as the gilded Lights pass by
intermittently

Ostensible isn’t it? Sure, I see the light! But it is not
at the end Of a tunnel. It infests this compartment, it integrates
itself upon Metals until there is no separation ““ nothing is
very real anymore, Is it?

A course of beads runs in the river like a black rosary forming
The double-helix and then we Have blood ““ !

Five years have passed Will pass before anything new happens in
the city to separate the wavelengths from the hair lengths … I
could digress but what’s the point ?

We were you know once as calm as the morning hen before her head
is Cleaved from her body in an act of mercy . That’s what
they call it Anyway .

They were my friends, once , weren’t they ?

I like to hope so – But I guess we never were that close .

Adkisson is a first-year English student.