hallucinations of mass destruction

It was a dark and gloomy and gloomy and dark. Nothing could be seen for miles but mysterious and empty black. Floating and turning in her mind, can you see what she sees? The creating of power and fear fly past and her breath catches. Eyes open and close, flashes of soaking April and deep December. It’s paper and water and soil, mixing around through her fingernails and into her soul. The azaleas bloom and fade, flash her face with a smile.

Lining up from miles away the men and boys vie for her attention. Over here, over here, they call. Stare down at her palms, nothing can feel past the steel of the mind. A glance up to see one dazzling smile but the darkness consumes her eyes and ears, blocking out the sight and sound of all the good in the world.
It’s terrible and amazing, heart wrenching and beautiful. The vibrating sounds that whisper awful stories of endless love and unreachable goals. Not for you, not for anyone but the make believed, desolate.

Here, take my hand. Pressure from an unknown source sends her tumbling and flying over nothing that facades as everything. The wind blows her hair up to reach the sun and the cool heat breaks her heart back down to reality. A tear floats up and her hand opens to drop the pressure. Screams echo around harmonizing and painfully missing the right notes.

Gazing into the pit of the ring, cream and blue absorb the eyes and consume the epitome of everything that is her; inside the eyes of a blameful stone. A first kiss, tinged with regret and worry. The reflection of glorious anguish masked, unnoticed and unimportant.

Flash. It’s the beginning of time. A deep voice resonates in the silence, muffled by her thoughts that yell to no one. Spinning wildly and without purpose she rams into glowing neon hands that shove her over and over. All in a circle, the hands, relentless, pinch and mold until she’s a new person.

Grass and rain swirl and run, laughing with glee. They graze her face, infectiously grinning to her empty eyes. Translucent tires fall from the monkey laden trees and she wonders about the silver and orange pens that write lies into their brains.

Splashes of paint on the walls of her new house. Indecision seeping from the pain in the strong sides, pressing in on the subconscious causing hallucinations of mass destruction.

A life zooms by, forgetting the past and ignoring the future. Maybe they died long ago or maybe it’s just coincidence. Aren’t you tired? she asks. Tired of all the critiques? Do you even try to make sense anymore? A boom of thunderous laughter. Oh no, silly girl. But please do remember to live by the words of the wise and high. Mighty above everyone because of their plants and figures. They bend the world to be what the wildest imagination can create.

You are what you also see.