Blindly wandering through the drizzle, my bad dream puts me in the middle of two hills. The gloom lifts to reveal a mill. I pause before I knock on the door. The door swings open. There stands a trim man dressed as a king.
My mouth opens but words fail to emerge.
Suddenly an alarm changes everything.
You challenge me with a route teeming with pretense. I should jump at the dearth of shock you attempt. How is it possible one could care so lightly? Not as individual drug, nor bulk helps to deal with you.
I struggle with my fringe power. It’s mysteries swirl then list like shooting star. My brain storms new roads to charge down. At last comes a sigh. I have gone nowhere.
A bag of answers laugh at me. I’ll reflect upon the smoke of my options left bare. Agents of misfortune band together casting their stones back at my direction.
Time to leave blackjack tables.
Color burst surfaced in my mind. A punch to the throat mixed with wrapping chains. I simmered.
“What kind of nut?” I labeled him, as if it matters now.
The skin off my face flees. Scorn brutally digs at what was once me. The need for cream provides no salve. I hold a storm until my inner poet releases the pain.