Saturday Night Special

Creatures of the dark
Trollop through the night
Embedded in a hazy garden
Their eyes are scarcely seen
Slitted lids hide limpid reflection
The skin is cold and ashen
They have no concept of morality

Slap on gaudy ruby paint
Crack into bottles of cheap champagne
Show off your monsterous assests
In the name of satisfaction

One slips from the pack
Locks sights to fairly firm flesh
Fondles every pervasive thought
That scrapes her subconcious

Ripping out a tribal energy
The prize has no opinions
This force's word is deliverance
Into more sinister seas
Though innocently disguised as bath water
The whole thing turns tidal wave

Now the arms are flailing wildly
Somewhere between exhilleration and insanity
Tossed a helping claw
Would he be so casual to accept?

Time wears away at origin
Soon enough the skin will yellow
The eyes are already unfocused
This whole horrror show will reproduce

 

yikes, quite striking
in its contrast to
what would be accepted
when attracted by inner vibration,
for we all are heat seekers
yet compromise
with lukewarm.

to burn or not to burn...
is the real question.