the moment never dawned on her when she became an observer, drink in hand, her ring a nostalgic memory that clung to her like a scar. lost in search of metaphors, they all saw what was there, they all had it in them, but they stood vicariously living out something that was always out of reach.
it's another lonely night amidst the crowds. a cigarette and a clenched fist. a few drinks in and not quite drunk. anger, hate, distaste, i loved them all so dearly. the pedals on a lone weeping willow cast on the yellow milky light of a sunrise they could never fathom, a thousand beautiful things blind to the liberation in their hearts, and lost to their minds.
what is warmth without the cold? what is comedy without tragedy? it's lobotomies or nothing. blind to the gorgeous entrapment of the downward spirals, the blood spilled from a thousand beautiful things turned the rivers to wine. they looked on in terror, a red sea, a dead sea, a mirror reflection of their lives.
it's no wonder a nation of sheep will be ruled by pigs.
