the noise made by people.

if you think nothing is yours,

if I think everything belongs to me,

how wrong I'll be,

none of us have anything.

there's a place I have never explored,

Another world we have yet to conquer

and until then, none of us have anything.

--broadcast.

solidarity.

Dark. The scene is dimmer then I once remember.

Carry Gold.  You'll require the glitz to entice them, to entertain and enlighten.

To liven.

My hair's natural curl has returned, and it's sheen alone has been the only light shed on home.

The air here, heavy with familiar scenario, hot with the sting of disaffected youth,

They assimilate their weight in goods, in jewels.

Their iron stomaches, their lead intestines fear nothing of the sort.

The masquerade of modern day,

Consumption seems the only way for my precious darlings,

their feeble minds and evaporating personalities,

those I hate to love, hence, love to hate.

king & queen.

the poorly timed delivery. 

the scottish snow, nervously gazing at the window 

a limpid picture, our television screen.

the bedrooms view, for a king & his queen.

for, what a vision it was,

powder drifting in time with the melody, 

cascading to coat the earth, 

purity.

wrought with contradiction

we're frozen.

possessing a heat to melt the ice, 

these divine minutes,

a moment 

to write home about.

in the thick of the sin,

foreign skin touching the born and bread,

breaths placed accordingly.

we breed the ruins. the death of a monarchy,

the end of an era.

at least the world appears pretty as we lie.

eyes to our sky, watching it,

all fall down.

a girl can DREAM.

a girl can dream.

she slept through all alarms, all signs of warning.

she awoke in 1940, when a woman's strife was glamorized.

when women were forced to fight.

she'll stay situated between the sheets,  she'll take this one laying down.

for her severed limbs can't hold her up,

the beast has harrowed her zeal,

her will to persevere.

the narrative of a tragedy, Oh who will save the heroin?

the whore, this bitter burden with breasts,

glowing and thin.

her body looks alive, though her pale heart claims otherwise. 

IT KILLS.

sinners.

his streets were murky, 

dense with gaunt men, 

from each of his pores, over-stimulus bled.

each woman, a harsh exaggeration of the figure eight.

each laugh, heightened to a pitch inaudible

to the Mothers and their daughters,

though, they saw all.

he swallowed them whole, saw them raw in flesh,

he beckoned, they obliged, without question.

he shuddered, and a dozen more alike fell from the sky.

a local screamed " THE CITY OF SIN", 

their full, fat bellies bounced, 

as they cheered at this statement.

He created the wrath of a beast,

sweet with sugar coating and a sticky center.

With empty pockets, empty hearts, 

from which he sought all,

they boarded the train to cleanse their souls.

Apologized to their wives and daughters, 

and cried like newborns, stripped bare.

RUN.

Grimace.  The child can't be older then five, but you feel his chilling glare.

Your bones buckle beneath you, one leg at a time.

The slow climb, how dare you.

The last of the month, the boy is masked, the girl is prepared for marriage.

Surreal, though you're in costume.  Clad in cotton.

Flush, you begin to tear.  Fight it. 

Fight it.

You're disguised, the little ones stare through your shroud of secrecy.

They see how your heavy heart beats irregularly.

Only, if you had a hand to hold. You're ashamed for trying to kid them.

Before you can tear your clothing off, time stops,

the children have gone.

You stand alone in the darkest depths of the park.

Feral in fur, drooling and snorting.

Intoxicated by the night air, the stranger with orange skin in underwear.

You cower in fear, the hollow hole of conversation, the repetition.

Hidden,

There is no rationalizing your current state of affairs.

You have made the body and the mind separate entities, 

a conflict of interest.

Scratching at intangible boundaries, trying to break free.

The innocent see this, 

though the others ignore.