Crime and sports hero’s, to celebrity, reading disease. Believe in love, believe in money, both failing, your race horse heart beating, losing hair like health, and the 100 toys and designer atmosphere that can’t shelter you from still feeling hideous like a bad pulse you’ve had after trying to out run an awoken dream. Cups of coffee, dancing to no feeling, but we’re protected and we’re free. Make believe, beautiful glass comfort, lingerie, ideas of perfections broken, like the scars you’ve gained from years jading, and color-fullness of un-faithful eternity, and now the sun is too hot it melted you under its seems. Theatrical in all senses a dubious romance makes music loud, moving around cock fights. A violence of technique and from the top of the world, a loss of reality, to nothing at all. A compass silence. You lose your life in a blink like a license. Memories laid in dirt of opium deserts that said there we’d find something greater than so much material, and I’ve dreamt lovers naked in such vacantness they we’re beautiful even the moon was envious. Then there was this buzzing sound, I looked to my right.
