Building castles, pies in the sky, leaving pebbles underneath the neon lights. Did you see the marble statue looking down on us, with an enigmatic and slightly benign smile, injecting magic in an otherwise pink and subdued night. On the merry-go-round, eyes shut tight, the unicorns turn and dance with the swines.
A little star dust is the only make up worthy of the dreams in my eyes, and the whisky coloured words no less than our misfit minds deserve.
Give us a few light years and we will have figured out nothing, but by then we might have written a couple of epic stories & modern myths.
Somewhere, a giant will weep in the darkness and indifference while secrets — never meant to be kept — will burst, tired of waiting for deliverance.
The poets are dead, I don’t want nor need their decayed crowns on my head, I’m happy with graffiti on my walls, stylish and sexy, never mind the bald eagles — utterly appalled — screaming at me in fury.
What else matters but our collection of moments, small slices of life, gathered in my hands whilst I strike a pose—hold it for the pages of Vogue—before releasing them all…and people slow to a crawl…awed and warmed by the radiant colours flying up into the ether.