Like lambs to the slaughter concert.

The witches eat the juciest bits.

They pretend to care.

Am I a cult unto myself?

Mosquito wings.

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Skipping and drooling, lying in wait.

Making plans.

A double life of paranoia.

The trees are alive!

I'm all smiles looking back.

Have you kept in touch?