Are these smiles self-satisfactory? Are these subtle
movements worth while? My lord, these
colours are being misinterpreted. Skin
twisting, eyes
singing. Several rays of light
are devouring the
paint. Crawling among the grind, I am
the forgotten, the
dust. And, of course, you are
in the clouds, you fantastic
****. I want to
be reckless, but I'm feeling so
uptight.