In the whisper of quills, it flows like rivers of midnight, captured in the dance of feathered scribes, painting stories without uttering a single sound.

In the medicine cabinet I lie, waiting for my due course, ready to impose my will through sheer abrasive force.

I can be fancy or cheap. I'm typically functional. I can be found in a pocket on a chain, around a wrist or on a lapel.

I’m tapped from trees, then heat refined, to stretch and snap yet not unwind.

The difference between Coke and Mexican Coke is a five letter thing. A sweet, and perhaps deadly, crystalline thing; ground more finely for powdering things.