She rotted in her mind, as if her visual cortex was made of felt washed too many times. Squinted at clusters in the bright light of drab, the only beige in this city. They were all staring at the letters clunking on their teeth when they smiled, their toungs label makers espoused to unpublished snark blogs and post modern bla bla blas. Their enamel will deteriorate post whitening before their complaints can fertilize, a dessert of spoiled milk.
All their risks are drained down antique avenues in street rhythm rivers conjealed oil, sunburned kitcschy merchandisers, alcoholic residue, squatters dandruff dreads, a pealing tattoo, or the bloody lips of a sweating street artist at high noon. A casino of rotting dice.
Ebbing away the cobwebs of thick notions, stretching them thin within my grin, I peer out this womb of a shattered window. Rickety thoughts collect on dew drops, emblazoned on prehistoric plant life. Carving into mud with my toe, spelling out adenine triphosphate radio. The string theory of energy intermediates clinging to my peach fuzz stereo. Queer in the night, sitting in a cemetary enjoying a poor mans insight. The sake of things staggered in bricks, wrought iron gates, baring the bird cage I curl within.
The truth of pain decieves more than our wrinkled smiles. Embrassed winces are cobwebs of wroughting granny smith apples, that crumbles in my asophagus as the synthetic foam on mail order grocery cakes
let's step outside look up. The stars nonsense satisfaction tickles you, giggles a harmonic river tune, creaking beats with a rocking chair of life. Humorless hermits hear the rhythm like nails on cardboard, they want gentrified enlightenment.
All I want, what I'll get, is a long, warm night.
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