Collectively chilly. Fragrant rapture. Angelic grip. A vacuum, sucking away the minutes until the eyes cannot discern between what just happened and what they didn't really see. Pinching the darkness I find you there. Hiding behind velvet strips of deep thoughts. You're there, always waiting with your solace, and your stare. Taking away my minutes from me. I claim no ownership but I'd still like that which I am grateful for. Did you stumble again dear friend? Was it unexpected and sudden? I can understand the fear of that chaotic trip, the jumpy sensation filling your nerves. The surge of adrenaline that makes you shake a few seconds afterward. Chilled. Mal, dear mal. You mean bad, you mean evil. Will you fight when you're about to fade into the night? Will you struggle against the inevitable? Or will you accept as in giving in or maybe as in giving up? Flying aphrodites, menaced cogs, hellacious juniper buds, clank thrice, luminous dragon fly. Flash into me. Rape my pupils some more. Trigger that lack of focus. My mind is bleeding waiting for you to come stitch it up with wonderment. Amaze me darling, count the sutures. Understand the fantastically vicious need I have for beauty. Tick tock and you are lovely. Fountain of light, spray the moonbeams into a concentrate. Bottle and market. The home makers can then pour the concoction, water added of course, into the pixels of their television screens and hope to be an instant winner, all paid vacation bearer, million dollar award winner, spontaneous regeneration of youth holder. That could be them. Demons, everyone has them. Bah, cliche. Bah, they encapsulate the language. Bah, I'm discouraged to even speak for my lack of originality pains me with every syllable. In your own words. My words are everyone elses words. Nothing original there. The combination is all that is different. Hush frequent flyer. Judge me not lest ye be punctual. Crickets picketing. Polly wants a 401K plan. The grinch stole my solitude. Jumpin jack flash, it's highly irritating. My nose is quite sore from this high latitude but I assume the nearest well polished, fake, carefully constructed so as to confuse mosaic of a make up counter will aid me in my quest for a moisturizing, wrinkle reducing, solution to all of my worlds problems including my total lack of shame. Wings dancing on sound. Travesty of the sugary type. Innovative use of use. Mimic me. The gray area secretly harboring rainbows and my head nodding towards the lone sheep in the background of my comforter. Mission accomplished and I have arrived behind the dark velvet curtain. Hello dear friend. It is high time we meet considering the vast array of despicable sins you've laid waste on my soul. Thank you for your existence, I have gained some wisdom, but the clock has broken, your time card is torn, the meter has been violated, the last train exploded into flowery debris, and your smell and taste has resorted to the artificial flavoring of cheap cookie decorations so now you must be on your way or you may begin to infect yourself. Just as well the minutes move by without notice. I miss that noticing. Accept and no regret. Tattooed philosophy. Branded ideology. Is it so much to be tricked as it is to be deceived, or rather is it, tricking while deceiving all in the same breath that amounts to so much brilliant majestic fields of childhood envisioned green. Colors are never so bright and fantasies never so vivid as when they are imagined in childhood. Innocence yes, but the best kind. Hiding behind waterfalls I watch myself now. The girl years ago spies on me always and when needed, whispers reminders of the misty way her world wraps around her. Sometimes she sings. Sings not yet written lullabies. We have conversations in the deepest of my sleep and her bright eyes convince me the next day will be so much more than I ever could have made it. I love her being there. Myself from so long ago. Tiptoeing through textured liquid paint, she caresses the earth with her delicate feet strokes, and from her sparkling toes streams forth the intense beauty of imagination. Of the forgotten reality we all grow out of.