Chop straws, coil wealth… The party begins.
Sequins dazzle, optics tremble in synchrony with lyrics projecting from quivering rims.
Dilated saucers on the stage we occupy, shaded before another quaff grants consent, attained through diabolical contrivance.
The crackle of chemical artifice, enlightened translation – extract the remaining shards of qualm.
Doesn’t every man deserve the time to shine?
The act of breathing can be tortuously protracted and cutting skin away merely briefly numbs the emotional ache.
Shame unfamiliar branches with depraved journeys along well beaten trails, where mystery replaces ordained allegiance.
Fresh spokes revolve the wheel;
I. Didn’t. Ask…
to see her pierced veins, she insisted. A rite of passage: each scar a graduation, each blister a flashback.
You don’t realise the time – it was something…. Like…. Spring.
Hands melted and honeycomb vibrated when I closed my eyes.
Conclude with something insightful, whilst a dragon simultaneously eyeballs you from point-blank quarters, those cursory shavings of fragmented, colourless reels seldom illuminate the spirit.
On the unfortunate they prey… Fables conclude. We wake feeling deficient. Vulnerably caged with a violent theme tune for a stinging septum and stained foundations.