saltonsea

Fall, fall, fall, fall...as far as you can. Then pop into the silk sunshine of misconstrued misbehaviour. Like the ghost, looking for the only thing a ghost needs: a body.
Let the anger rage into it's simple black and white pyxis. Let the indigence for explanation die with the raw knuckle flesh you use to stain the walls. Open up your solid black windows that you have shuffled fetusly behind, and squint into the long shunned smog-stained extramural.
Don't think anymore on the guilt of self-contemplation, when the lie was pursed from the lips of its patriarch.
You will hide in the dark, black corner of their mind. Arranging your image to be the last polaroid they cry to as their life succumbs to its age.
Today you will have a picnic. Amongst tulips and the twentysomethings that drink coffee to make them feel like they are going somewhere. You will grin slightly to the whispered knowledge, that you were the better person. And pride at the thought that your words were true.
illic ero a vicis ut vestri animus reverto

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