feel the vapor pressure drop as the dark steam pours out the entrance. real cold world is swirling into a club that keeps the real life world out. where every sense seems deathly weak from the frozen time you spent in transit. the glass danse world flickers on and the low end thaws your anxious body.
maybe i feel detached. i may just look to shy its a disinterest not that i'm a timid guy. i call them bodies but, they are attentive too. i feel the social glare, i feel the attitude
watch as mirrors clear themselves with the breath of frigid air that eased in. made up babies all rotate as a siren spins a beam of amber. time sliced beat by beat in a row, in a club, in a line, in the city.
the glass danse world flickers on because the cycle happens enough: a baby falls out warm. it's screaming for it's life. an infant tries to danse as it grows up then dies. that's simplified but uh . . . when you complexion dries. you wake up cold and think. you wish it'd been this way.
Ta strona używa cookies. Dowiedz się więcej o celu ich używania - przeczytaj naszą politykę cookies.
Korzystając ze strony wyrażasz zgodę na używanie cookies, zgodnie z aktualnymi ustawieniami przeglądarki.