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Trained Sight

18 May

               There’s a wicked moon slung low in the western skies, the sailor holds fear and desperation locked tight within his eyes. The ocean violently grips and throws the boat, he thinks of crying out to God but the words get stuck in his throat. The captain screams as the wood gives splinters and cracks, it seems the reaper has finally come to collect his final tax. He inhales a lungful of water that burns a hole clean through his lungs, frantically scrambling he bites clean through his tongue. The moving ceases and the ocean goes still, for now, at least, it seems satiated with its latest kill.

               I dreamt of a fire burning throughout the skies, only it was held and contained with a cage of lies. I saw the earth below starved of the light. I witnessed the people grow sedated and cease to fight. I saw a building with neon flash and plastic allure. Within they were constructing a disease for which there is no cure. Fresh flesh served up hot with a dose of infuriating narcissism. No love to be found amidst this accursed nihilism. Dark eyes and malicious intentions, grip and pull with empty affections. Death deals and rolls right on through. Fresh flesh served up hot and rotten just for you.

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Posted by on May 18, 2014 in Paradise Drift

 

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