I'm a ribbon. Spinning and falling. Twisting and turning.

I'm the final petal pulled named, "Loves you not."

A book bound in gold and emblems.

Written in a language understood by all but one.

A bonfire under churning, blackening rain clouds. Sizzling with each drop.

A brand new sword, sheathed and protected in a permanent glass case.

A native american in the heart of Tokyo.

A rattlesnake swimming in the arctic ocean.

A pair of jeans on mother Teresa.

A tibetan monk doing crack cocaine.

A Mercedes Benz in the rainforest.

A birthday party in a cemetery.

A cheeseburger in India.

A pistol on a pulpit.

A friend in hell.

A tanktop on mount Everest.