Intention has a way of drawing people out before we could see who they really are. And I can't help but wonder, are hope and desire glass of the same window? Does our need to know shatter the dream before we could figure out what it means?
There are no constants in life. Only variants. They too exist in absentia. The altercations are so ironic. They laugh out loud at my gullibility of understanding them. Or maybe at my misconception of thinking that I do. They just watch from a distance. Revering this show of destruction. One long drag at a time. Moronic attempt at distractions. You have any idea how many tasks you can pick up and abandon under sixty seconds? I'm wearing pink. It makes me sick. It feels so soft. Over my otherwise bare skin.
It's too damn humid. I'm shivering. Whats with white pills and black drops to drink? I'm hallucinating. It's ecstacy instead. The ending is the same. Our version. Vary. Hopefully. You said. Babe, perhaps your wish was granted,