Impulsively, crammed into a corner, black and white filtering the eyes. Staring at innocuous figures from the metal confines. A misshapen line separates the dark from what would be light. A near equal passing of the mind. Wave. Smile. Snap. Click. It moves on.
And a blue light filters across the stage, along with its lines and wires in serpentine fashion, sprawling like disease. It is needed disease. They speak 'We are what you need.' Bare feet running, as glittering girls stalk, following a hopeful answer. Follow the lines. Strangling. Straggling. Doped up. Confusion. Blare.
The light carries on.
Peace is a blurred vision, shadowing a stark backdrop. If only the hands could dial and focus. If only a blurred vision was beautiful. To take a hold and shake violently an absence of shock, creating extremities within the mentality of faith. A likeness of a paranoid spider, of a courageous plant. There is nothing. Whispering. If only. If only. Decay.
All the while, dead bodies float and collapse. Cold and alone, children cry out, tired and incapable. There is no thought anymore. Enough of the world, enough to drop into the grey, the lines, the peace. Quietly caressing the tiled ground. Ultimately fallen. Defenseless. Asleep. Sleep. Surrender.
