We rode on the sidecar of the motorcycle, through halls and halls of abandonment, looking to get through to the other side.
Fresh like darling buds of may. Cats and vampires there were so many. espresso coffees and coffee stained pages of imaginative fragments, highlighting the insecurities of the world.
Trying to save those who were brushed under the carpet of society.
Abandoned buildings, busy brothels, broken homes and fires so many fires.
You see, frequent destruction of life, breaks my heart. How could so many hurt and hurt, but never give any decency back. We are nothing but take, take, takers.
An entourage surrounding a son of greed and might, and so the raconteur tells the story of the madness that lurks within our walls. His mind,old and frail, his tales though still as sharp as a razor blade. He once had a dream of pain and death and stomach ulcers, and so it repeated and repeated. Until the old man of story telling could feel no more.
Claws and endless claws, scratching digging into what is left of life. Cathartic writings of old yellowing claws yearning for the return of it’s youth.
We sat around a coffee table. She played footsie with me underneath. Luring me into a trap, a void of self-destruction. Back handed compliments and endless obfuscation, but what an ass she had.
I was left in a prism of thought for twelve hours, my mind was broken and repeating itself, hallucinations and a vivid pain like torture.
Wooden flowers surround my feet, suffering the the consequences for a so-called democracy. She likes to spin a web for her prey and wait until she catches them. Slowly weaving their minds with webs.
Each advertisement kicking them in the teeth. Civilization begins and ceases to exist every fucking day. We grow older, begin to understand what life really is. shameful, fearful, just a mess. But no fears because it’s just another tale.
© Alex Turner 2015