Without adornment, the self would never allow itself to surface. Locked away, floating on some unknown realm, it ceases to respond to my enquiry. But the physical embodiment was dragged across known turfs, lingering on damp lamped domes, awaiting motion on silver screens.
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A panting dog lies in despair. The blue dawn embraces me with a chill, the crimson fumes fall on its skin. It fixes its gaze on me, craving for a sympathy. My gaze flutters on his texture and indifferently puts away. It gets up and barks. Twice. My breath becomes heavy.
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Red skies.
Each flash is a startling sign that fate has finally found me. Voices are all that I hear.
The clothes go off. In embraces.Pulses rise, Salts trickle, life surges onto the slit.
Truths, all versions, contradict amongst themselves. It doesnt even travel the first metre. Limped, bruised, Truth buries her face in agony.
The Beat has regained blood for thought. The verve is new, shrouding the fallen stinks, aroma of a new realm fuse into the red fluid.
Letters dance topless. Unaroused, yet out of habit, they are let in. Back and forth, the play goes on. The dilated pupils hold broken stories of lust and deceit.
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