White Jackets and Candy Dishes

They offer no rope nor traction. Following a prolonged icy tongue-blast a slow slide into the greasy crevasse where lie, soul stiffening white jackets. There seems to be infinite oceans of infinite critics- vast deserts without an oasis of empathy. Powers that be will steal the last of the cherries leaving mountains of bluish pits and pluming death. Drunk clowns are juggling our happiness squirting flowers filled with ink and lye to cloak the last bastions of gilded sanity and poison all the goodness in our lives. So, what are the children of silence to do? Sit in their blackness and lick a sticky candy dish... Surrender the ghost of a million, to a appease a few. or come out swinging in the light-with fiery fists.