the moist roads lead through dark valleys to high hills that breath in and out a haze that forms a maze in the ether as we roll in the hays of the lands where nothing never dries up. nowadays we break and bend in a whole new way. we sizzle ourselves dizzy like we were as intangible hues before condensing to bodies feeling the blues.
rate your synchs, someone said in the dim corner of a room lit by the globe. I had my eyes closed and just kept on dancing with my hands, beating the ethereal rhythm through air. scents lingered around me and I had no idea whether they were there or where I was, standing one foot in the grave. you know, bordering the real.
we were born and raised as wholesome kids but still grew askew. diamond bones shine in solitude under warm flesh. we mix ourselves into each others like beats, experiencing
life as if we were all one and the same. that sense of communion is odd only as it is perceived by the
eyes of the matrix. trix are for kids - and sometimes for tricky rabbits. doing the work of those who can dance with more than two hands, leading the way down to the maze forming from the intangible haze. we know the drill.
if only I could read what's written in my mind, I said when I opened my eyes to the dim room where we were. I have a tendency to be a bit melodramatic. I can pledge until I'm blue in the face. words carry a weight too heavy for any shoulders, even those above a crystalline rib cage.
