The golden shadows played over the fields of my conscience. There a maiden lay, among the flowers and the thorns. It wasn’t long before memory forgot her place and took over from sexuality. Suddenly lust was lived through childhood memories and they termed him a pedophile.
When the rain falls I think of the atomic nuclei of heavy hydrogen bursting into flame there at the edge of a little black spot. Twice I asked her what she wanted, then I just blew her head off. After all, it isn’t that I didn’t care, it was just that it didn’t really matter, her being a figment of my reality and all. In the prison of my perceptions I wander through slivers of drivel.
What if we all saw the same? Wouldn’t that just be the ultimate expression of my sock drawer? Another cloud passes over the consciousness of the mad man and for that moment he contemplates homicide. A single moment is sometimes all it takes. They found the old man nailed to heavens door. ‘Man sacrificed to save the trinity’ the note read.
It’s where purple and blue mash that they had hidden the loot. The rainbow really did lead somewhere, as he plugged it into his veins. They took his voice for that. Took it and made it sing like the memory of reality.
Where does this all leave us? But then, it never really leaves us. Nothing ever really does. It all gets mixed in to that grand formula that is you. Expressing the need to express myself is ultimately as futile as the epiphany that just escapes you.
So it leaves us somehow dissatisfied, but yet still somewhere forgotten. Two little men sit by the dock and share a cigarette.
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