Whirling By
Whirling by, munching away at the worn-garnet shingles, chopping trees with its transparent rope and hair-raising dynamism, and flushing your garish memories and spotless portraits down the toilet, sucking them away, fracturing and splintering your heart and soul, for they mean the world to you, they turn the lights on in your life.
Whirling by, facility and adroitness allow you to tiptoe across the stage, do fluent splits, and run the show, for you are conducting a harlequin infused performance and putting on a clinic, for your soul burns brighter, your eyes twinkle extra-scintillatingly, and your hair glows clearer than a luminescent firefly. Your twirling and twisting viciously, like a ballerina, you convey waves of happiness with your blinding smile.
Whirling by, your feelings have gone down the gutter, sank into the sticky, grungy mud, into a funereally gloomy cave infested by wolffish spiders. You are traipsing across an ice-bound lake, skating on an attenuated layer of frozen liquid, dereliction gripping you like the frost bluing your lips, for you are carelessly cracking the black ice, for you've been neglected by your closest peers and shunned by your insensitive parents, and you are just waiting to burst and fracture, for your a ticking time bomb, waiting to burst and explode, spray shrapnel around, slicing and dicing others that care deeply for you, for ending your life doesn't just close the blinds, barricade the doors, and stain the floors with blood for you, everyone who prays for your happiness also cries for your death, for a tsunami doesn't just affect the coastal city, it also affect millions of others that check the news and see the devastation that has been wrung.
Copyright © Sam Allen | Year Posted 2017
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