"Sunk without trace?" It wasn't much of a vacation. apparently living "like a human pickle." trapped cramped, strapped to the sensation strangled pinched. panting choking churning the air. suspended on the spur of the mundane moment, dangling from a ventilation system, suffocating! hung and whipped by the many pitfalls retained, lodged caged. blocked locked again. Prepare the dungeon for the screwed up doors and locks and silence. hostages, eating away at the facade of birthdays and holidays, only to dredge up petrifying sandwiches and cookies. a long anticipated monotone surrounded stunning kidnapping capturing more slaves. making beds and cleaning bathrooms, ice caves. all washed and dried. Meanwhile pangs of dogged right and wrong, posing hypothetical snapped. crying wolf. wagging their tail and trembling. The real reason stood up, begged and simply crumpled. "What kind of man are you?" A pack rat snuck out of the box, emptied.
JAMES W JOHNSON