keila

Projected onto flesh pulled over hazel spheres, a twisted picture show appears. Changing frames so quickly and fleeting from clarity. Familiar but unknown images mixed with memories fading into far off darkness just within reach. Real enough to blur the line, the one we're told not to cross, the one just before the edge we sometimes leap off. Drifting on darkness within each sphere, confused by surviving the fall. From within reality is magnified, crowded, loud, lonely, restless and boring. Clarity is part of the twisted illusion that never will appear, which I could give a shit less about as long as the intoxication is real.