The last few days have been bad vibes. Mad waves of paranoia. Harsh words and cold realities burning fear into the hearts of the weak and the weak of heart.
Mad roads laughing as the sunset rises to catch up with the gulls and the fish. Swimming in a lake of burnt crimson and sliver toads.
Observations of character traits that have gone under the waves like thick velvet curtains of smoke and wind chimes. Blasting out a ray of sentimental hoovering. Like bats in a cave the jellyfish stumble. Stumbling on around the noise of the dead. Zombied eyed and thirsty for the souls of the naked prayers.
With a single candle burning in the smoke filled room. Black candles slowly burning giving off a scent of raw apples and cinnamon.
The Cinnamon Girls dancing around in nothing but a net. Converting their own frozen tears to a damp and scary find.
Did I mention the the mad waves of paranoia. It's been a clockwork of elasticity giving a fluorescent glow to the numerous crashes of dead beatings. Leaving the poor exposed and rotten and nothing more then spilled ejaculate on a brick wall for all to see. Like cosmic ectoplasmic cum dripping from your corpse.
And all the world is a stage. Your heart shinning like a brain dead turtle, hiding under the lampshade. What will become of us. Stumbling around the cave like bats we are just jellyfish.
***** by Ardeth Blood
I think I miss; Mr. B. this is the kind of stuff we would write. See who could out shine, out weird, out confuse each other while still slightly making sense.
But sadly, those poetry readings days are over. For the moment.
