It was down deep and covered over with vines Barely visible, inoffensive buried. A sentence came like a scythe chopping a vine at a time exposing bits of the hidden thing, cutting through the skin causing it to bleed. A scar became a wound in a word. Impossible to pile the fresh over the 'not so dead.' I stand a few moments away, make a place for the new word and let my blood flow like a river carrying me to Hades where the vines are so thick that you can not be seen.