Every soul I come into contact with leaves an impression onto me. But I don't believe in souls, so how can this be? How can I taste the flowerless nature of a coke nose and find it to be an eternal bloom? For I, to without and before sunset, **** the shadows that mask the morose and keep the victimized stalwarts close. See thy honor in the trauma of the night and transient beauty of the light that shines in all that I touch, not enough or, perhaps, too much. To break my empathy would be shimmerless, but I'm dimmer, thus, a shallow crest of what I thought was best on the Earth's grass and in the brain's broken glass.
Intermission: Soda Pop and Popcorn in the lounge.
****** in France, you like coke and being other people. You tried to **** yourself with your car but it only went as far as the saliva leaping from your mouth, when your head hit the horn, and blared until your ears popped, with your spit splatting against the speedometer. Because what is fast isn't fast enough. The EMT told you this when you saw the lights flash across your eyes. Focus. Focus. Focus. Follow the light with your eyes. This isn't god. Do you have parents? What is your name? Your wallet melted in the heat. What is your name?
You think you hear rusty bone saws but they're trying to cut your friend out of the vehicle. There isn't enough time. Time is never enough.