The Laugh

She had a laugh so close to pathetic.  A monotone hoot three steps away from a sob.  It was the laugh of someone stretched thin over the drum of life like so much goat skin.  An existence hovering slimily between the worlds of torment and hysteria.

Who

Who's knocking on the door? Bang. Who spread the dust galore?  Who pushed us out wide?  Faster we go.  Who planted the seeds?  Nobody knows.  Who slumbers within?  Silent.  Whose slithers begin? Who rouses our spirits high?  Awakening.  Who trigers the light?  We're taking it.  Its us?  Its them.