The people smile, stretching their fingers towards the sky on a lazy day in early summer. From the shattered shackles of frost where we came from, hopes, ideas and dreams are given birth to in the intermezzo of our souls deep sleep. In this world where you no longer feel heavy, no longer feel blue and out of place but the sun scorches the rain heavy clouds and from the white snow our white skin is reborn and the light burns it all away, there is no darkness to hide in and there is no neon light which we can find and confirm how we look good, from what angle for every blitz that has ever rained and we peer into their eyes, as they lie on our side out in the grass and we sneak a peek over the book or in our beautiful grand bed where we snatch a view when he is asleep or outside, where she's come over with lunch at work and she's just standing there looking into the window, not noticing us standing on the inside untill she does and there are these elements of which her eyes are made of and we want to delve deeper inside, we want to catch a glimpse of when she invites herself to tea and scones inside her soul
We want it revealed but we are lost in labyrinths of skin, broken balloons with cracked skin with nothing on the inside and we see the complexities, no longer wishing to prolong the unhealthy atmosphere and as we crack them open to see the insides, the air is beaten out of us, a strong punch to the stomach and small bubbles made of rainbow material obscures our line of sight and like the magician who opened the doors to heaven and hell, we are given a second to think before we must act, a last defining moment of where our godhood used to be for in the beginning there was nothing but someone made the light
We feel the skin hunger upon ourselves as we tell ourselves a tale of who we are in the context of their understanding and we prod at them, trying to see where they go and how they go and we don't really fear or hate these people for they are beautiful, the most beautiful of people, they are our brothers, sisters and we love them but we have outgrown our naivete, we've become too old to be large for every freak we meet for there are no treasures behind your walls of fort knox, contained behind bars and doors of impenetrable iron and metal we see the waxed dull surface of the glass that shone so perfectly on its day of erection but does no longer and we distantly perceive the doors inside the cathedral, the guards making their rounds but they never sneak off for a cigarette but stand there, guarding your heart
Wow.
*hand over mouth, staring in silence*