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.
