smokescreen

got to, have, has to be exquisite: catch that sickly smile. trying to disguise a wrapped rose to thorns, only thorns but the gait of his walk, the eyes so very hungry for more, what rose is it? plant a seed, dig it deep so the mind does not casually pry out young stems coming alive in a warm thick heart eager to test the flesh. can almost taste the gait, like walking on air, sickly smile inverted a heart rejoices to beauty only for one. rips apart those thorns, displays for all to see, don't come here, it's futile, meaningless, go on, on towards your daily walk. and serious contemplation sets upon some, others quietly joke that splinters, pins, needles don't make much for a cheery day: ah how they cover their faults, their sorrow with neutrality, the smoke is thick, like a heart unable to pump well, gone to big - woops, dear god no way, branches, dead oaks burning crudely in beautiful summer longing for a touch of cold, what sweltering heat, the pores open up, breathing in smoke, dust, dirt while busy folks mind their own business, and halt with wafts of rosy scent getting picked up by the wind, what's missing? clearly something they ached for, something missed, unable to figure out the piece for fulfillment; tugs along at mother's skirt, where to now? the child asked. but mother was busy baking pancakes, not now deary, try reading a book, so the child read the story of red riding hood, imagined mother turning to a wolf - gotcha, began to cry and pummel his fist on the door, beauty masquerades as nightmares, as pancakes. unmake her, the apparition dissolves and pancakes turn to honey cakes with a douse of maple syrup; sweet, sweet a child's bubbly laughter hits home run, with serious contemplative watchers sighing, a spell broke, mayhem disrupted where conspiracy theories dissipate to nothing, air, air - just air and imagination, while busy folks stopped to breathe in air laced with hope, love, greed, tiny quantities of arsenic is the missing piece, women cried unabashed for paler tone, it's working! get confusing sometimes, you know, what the body feels, what the organs are slowly turning into; they don't yell, don't alert, the hackers have gone past blue team, defenses down, the trojan horse gallops happily in the courtyard, with fine princes and princesses clapping delightfully; how charming, how ingenious as the horse now stood on two legs and brayed like a donkey; spits out a dozen roses to bewildered onlookers, wowing them till the tiny dust sparkled on roses, went into lungs deflating. now the courtyard became empty, a child's cry echoes hauntingly inside the walls, the contemplative spectators tried to make a go at it, to flee from poison fumes they began to acknowledge, admit, senses hitting home run as one sickly smile turned hideous: mine, mine, tore off a mask, bared his teeth, the smokes became more dense, it's all in the past now - old weary bodies no longer able to fight, to grab at, to hold fast on to hope burying inside flesh, unable to sprout, the greedy vain smolders life; the heart begins to fail, flailing about, hands limp, wrinkled bundled bodies contorting, i smelt a rose, i saw something like beauty, i heard a call like the awakening of something more, and it was all laced up, behind a sickly smile, a quick exit, before the sink holes began to appear and fire from the depth roared in jubilance - finally. smoke, smoke in the air - a stomach eager to devour all those beauty in one eternal lake.