Paths

a nervous laugh, a break the ice moment and more ice came within, does he know? onlookers remain placid, unreadable, each posturing away till the topics became more erratic, flamboyant, riddled with meanings between words, scratch me the cat waltzes by, pressing it's keen body closely

heat, pressure quite uncomfortable and clay screams, shouts, revolts makes no pretense that this torture is quite unwanted, meanwhile wallflowers sit idly by with wind pass through, gently swaying to the ebbs and sighs of each passing generation

vices entrap, vices make addicts, vices enslave, the prey understands, refuses not. virtues are repulsive, hard to do, it's work, sounds like boredom manifested, banal. vices is a sugar rush, a dopamine high, a secret heist, they allure, they're attractive, they're hidden desires wanting more.

and leave the bones, rocks, broken glasses to be seen: change. morph. weep. a cat leaps out of the bag, then returns quickly when larger predators hang about, swimming, circulating to find a weak spot the pirate tries to flee enemies eager to hang a vile man!

sticks, more sticks, always reprimanded with a cane, rod, words pour down of what i should have been and pleas are long, constant, patient but your ears are blocked off because i am the life you never had, your fantasy

back turned, a neutral composure, a hint of irritation when polite smiles dig a little deeper because the superficial is manifest when the cake is the prize. just being used, warming the seat, trickery and lip service becomes the currency of exchange

tug, a pull, a hint it could even be benign like an advice, a gesture, a pat on the back for the trojan horse enters the gates when covered up well: don't even thin about it said the damsel in distress, the old man unable to lift

What a delight, a laugh, a snicker or smirk: it matters not what expression comes about because joy is rolling within and outside. what a rise, what an ascension to clouds now well below the horizon

what wicked seeds stain this polished marble and yet the ink will not come off ... ... let's improvise! what roots that dig inside this flesh of a human cage

what a stance, pedro burned and it was nothing like what he thought it would be.