The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames. Arsonists hold their gassers to my face. In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable vapor, born to flit away. Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes: these gates hold little significance to them.
(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)
Prior to this, they had presented themselves as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know, I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear, I know it's a game!
Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed their razor blade. They whizz their wings. Here they come, coming for me.
Here I go again: counting sheep, blinking for one whole eternity.
Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe. Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad. I shall never recuperate.
Mollify my entirety. Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.
she looked back and asked, “do we have enough candles?”
“enough to start up the Great Chicago Fire all over again.” I replied.
and she said,
“to watch that whole city burn to the ground would be quite the enchanting piece of captivating imagery.”
we lit the candles, and danced with demons like Indians in celebration upon a pile of burning books as we sang songs with sirens under our drunken culture while the troubadours and lyricists without hats played the diabolical lutes and hellish harp strings of fire on chaotic imperfections we piddled on the face of society and bet against the fixed fight as the troops of tomorrow paraded down the alternative streets like ants in the kool-aid on a warm breezy summers day half the neighborhood was drunk with rage and the other half was dead rabble-rousers, blithe and tinkered, all stood up at once like agitated cobras and torched the night sky with incendiary controversy and we made love in the streams of submachine guns that flowed like the cocktails of Molotov under the arsonists belt until the ****** of our memories glittered on the broken buildings of our minds.