“So don’t leave me here with only mirrors watching me.”

Refract these feathered images I see of myself in frames made of styrofoam and gold. Sing to me cream coloured envelopes filled with artificial symbols of the world which we claim to comprehend. Burn the books we’ve read like bibles and demand proteplanetary explanations to the questions that they were unable to answer. Travel through time into photographs of old women wearing even older hats while caught in the rain on a ****** sunday evening. If it were not for their black umbrellas, the spiders spinning webs from the heavens would weave and weave within their hair until silk and dead skin become one. Locks and locks will pile up at our feet as we dance under a kaleidescopal illusion of barely visible stars. They will not twinkle, but whisper, mutter dark commands into microscopic megaphones.You will flee; and I will continue feverishly twirling until the city no longer exists.