I try and capture the weird and the wonderful, but sometimes it falls through. Still, i try.
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Shambles
“Read the top line of letters for me sir”
“S.O.C.I.E.T.Y”
“Very good. And the next; if you please?”
“I.S A.N.A.R.C.H.Y”
“And the very last line?”
“J.U.S.T.I.F.I.E.D”
“Very good Mister Williams. See you next week”
Stumble. Fall. Crash. Burn.
So crassly in your competition with a treadmill and a mirror that your knuckles bleed with self loathing as you attempt to reach and inverted horizon.
Or the image at least;
Behind the looking glass and those square corneas from the idiot box that stains your retinas a blushing peach - anything to match your baby hide infused in the fiery flush of the mortified, and moral and the formerly indignant - gaping like old fish in the stench of decency.
“My it’s gone off hasn’t it?”
“Past it’s due date”
“So last season”
“apathy is so becoming of you my dear”
“I was planning on amoral but it’s slightly too flamboyant”
The mantra of the youth; hummed charmingly en masse - groaning and moaning in silent repose.
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