High on Metal Heels

The chair was arguing with the bed. Loud and high. In a Gothic submarine heavy with burnt matchsticks. Her high heels rose snugly all the way up to her thighs. Snakes invading the utopia of her inside.

The platform rumbled with a stiletto choke. The leather at the heels of the earth shrieking Goethe. A spike in the darkness. A toe in the throne. Culled and parted by boots on a charming vixen.

So to the window she scratched the word. With a pointed toe and a greedy fist. The word was now. The place was home.

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