The Wanton, Wayward Aftermath

Breathe in the voltaic neon lights,
      The pulsating beat pervading the arena.

The rhythm tingeing my thoughts with a molten haze
      Movement not a choice, but a musical proclamation

Melodic fundamentalists have hijacked my neurons, the blistering crash inevitable.

I ebb with the fluorescent flow of your lighted lips
They mouth the words I can’t discern
      I presently look to my flowing wrists
Skin dissipating into a vibrant, quaking pool seeping
Through the narrow spaces of earth.

Lyrical lysosomes eat away at my structure, gnawing
The fleshy membrane that keeps me from leaking soon
Gives way
Heart pounding
            Knees trembling
      Thrusting into and above the vibing vibes of the stage
As I come to the realization
That you like it this way.


-Andrew S.