You dance diversions and prototypes.

Adrift upon an aeonian vastness crested by skies of perfect splendour, ever ablaze not unlike unrestraint passions; forever in question. Eternal wonderment.

It is terribly quiet on this floatsam (all that remains to keep me from drowning), there is no hum of waves rising and collapsing into a single seamless sound. There is no roar of humourless traffic, a cacophony of honks and horns. There is no chatter of pedestrian handphone conversation being spat and screamed.

The wild blue yonder fractures, a streak of disruption cutting across pristine skies. There is the sound of glass shattering against plastered wall, and you screaming as tears well and fall.

Let us not descend into vanity, please.

~ by cryhavok on February 4, 2009.