The Desire of Work
Half the darkness away from the windows drench the room with sober emotions and this one lies in the middle of the room thinking of possible ways to pass the time. A stinking bum complies to the task when a hard-lighted flash crept out of nowhere, like a shot of well-endowed camera in view. This one partakes to the folly, and the sky grew misery out of its thick, gray spine growling as hungry as it was. Light borne out from the east whilst drizzles into the balcony of an open window. Jack as knives and served as fondue. Rain gave this one light which illuminated everything around him, including the darkest pits of melancholy and six-months' wine. Suffice to say none bear witness to the tragic notes of the melody, yesterday was a quarter view, today was a half view, tomorrow a full view. Kicking a habit, biting blankets, cooking for lunch and lifting a ton. Shame on the highest sky when blue and red demands a why. This one's eyes can see it all behind the illumination of the light that surpasses even the soul piercing throughout the core of humanity. Build and wield and shield and field, but never ever yield. She smiles, from a distance, with the death of a loved one. This one scratches its head in astonishment. Whatever lies beyond this grotesque serves as an disingenuous allegory of sorts, fondling the breasts of the sour furries. The head, the only head, thinks. The hand, both hands touch. The foot, twins by birth, steps. Then the light, disillusioned, dissipated into the wide-open space.