Piling up parapher-nothing, healthy electro-shocks of negativity and a few lines of good old backyard alchemy. Could this be the lethal combo to have led me to act-spew/spew-act but again there is no reflection. Cataclysmic supernova? In other words when idealistic soapy bath bubbles become a ball and chain. Your desires start to resent you for giving into the preordained food chain. What now? Well, you’re a parapher-eriphary.
Paraphernalia is Victorian lace on a bride in white. It’s a placebo fed with a smile and a warm pep talk. The dust caught by your grandmother’s rose painted china on the top shelf. After a while you start seeing its disposable. You pretty the road leading to the slum but for how long will you be distracted until you smell the lousy sanitation. White walls are similar to a prepubescent’s transition, under attack by time. The passerby will not notice a white wall until it bares a scar. Adulthood isn’t awarded it is bound to happen. Jumped a few fences, self-congratulations and on top of that you bought yourself a ticket to pretend finish line.
We all cannot jump into that rabbit hole with you now? Did I hear you correctly, I’m sorry but I already got far away enough to know your rabbit hole couldn’t replace mine. You see I own my organized chaos a lot more than you ever wanted to own yours.
