Attic space; rifling through talking points

Creaks like afraid whilst i repose unconfined as he sits in his unsteady unsureness motioning to me, “why”?He replied the same programs clattering pulse less meaning to leave telling me to go. Discontent filed down his unheard inertia a stranger within and still egging me to speak: graved.

An iridescent neon pulse wading in the city skyline waves of downwind foam: beads ebbed and rested. balloons highlighted with the subtle flow as a strain of light begins to feed and grow


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s