Follow Me

When streams of paper roses, bleed bitter fragrances, evil mists of leaves slowly fall, drifting along autumnal breeze of yesterdays. And i question unseen dirt trapped between sharpened thorns: what if the sun, at the end of your horizon, seems brighter than the skies in my mind? What if days are a little longer than the spoonful of quiet nights you’ve fought? Would you still paint hollow bones of every skeleton in your glass closet, with black and white traces flickering through sociopathic holes and into the windows of your rusted soul? But what if, all this time, you’ve been seeing silver linings through ruby tinted glasses, whilst steadying your befogged sight with the core of the devil’s unspoken mantras? Maybe, the fault is in what flows beneath your thick flesh, that refuses to let redolent air to rush in, unless wicked winds orchestrate songs of your delusional manifestation. So unlock the rails of your iron heart, follow me to the fields of fluorescent fuchsias; for I’ve always dared to speak invisible visions of my scarlet desires, as I run with teal green wildflowers, where pleasure spells my name across lawns in soft lavender dusks. I fear no mourning monsters dressed in golden feathers; virtual vultures speaking in demonic dialects, waltzing with energy vampires. They pretend to be angels of cyan eden, oblivious to the burning hell they reek, exhaling scripted sentiments of sanctimonious metaphors. Whilst rhyming with a cruel conscience, seeking for meaningless endings. They craft empty expressions in ghostly recitations, revised to ruin every starry sphere, where achromatic ink-sanity, remains reluctant to follow me and my moon.